Apocalypse Now
by Parnassus
Summary: AU to 5x04 The End: Dean AND Sam wake up in the year 2014. Zombies run rampant. Things go from bad to worse. How long will the brothers survive this nightmare? And ultimately, will they escape their fate?
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** **An**** alternative to the events of episode 5x04, The End. In this version both Dean and Sam are dropped in a post-apocalyptic nightmare where sane humans are practically non-existent and demons have taken over as head of security. A perilous journey and ultimate choice push the brothers to a fate they can't seem to escape. **

**Disclaimer: The boys and their woes don't belong to me, I'm just meddling. All hail Eric Kripke and the CW. The boys are colorful with their expressions and there's definitely gonna be some icky moments. **

**Rant: Basically, I've always wanted to read something where both boys were stuck together in the midst of the apocalypse. I never really found anything so I decided to write it myself! The End is one of my favorite episodes of the entire series, partially because I'm sort of hoping - evil person that I am - that it does all end up right back there ;) Just giving everyone fair warning, this is going to SUUHUCK for the boys. Like, I have so much crap planned for them…it's not even funny. Not exactly sure where it will all end up, but should be a fun ride nonetheless ;)**

**Okay, I'm shutting up...y'all go read! **

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Damn sunshine. Searing holes straight through his damn eyelids. His head was killing him and he couldn't swallow around the mouthful of cotton wool. Something was jammed uncomfortably between his ribs. Funny, he didn't remember going on a bender.

Someone was shaking him roughly by the shoulder. Wasn't helping the headache and the movement sent whatever he was lying on pogo-sticking into tender flesh.

"Dean!"

_Go away. _He batted clumsily at the pair of hands.

"Dean, come on, man. Wake up."

Opening his eyes felt like swimming underwater. Everything was blurry and surrounded by fuzzy, gray edges. A concerned pair of familiar hazel's appeared in his line of vision. He felt rough, giant hands gripping his face, trying to get him to focus.

"Hey, you with me?"

"S-Sam…th'…'ell?" Dean's voice cracked. His throat stung like hell and was dryer than the Gobi. He coughed and tried swallowing to get a little saliva circulating.

"Yeah, yeah I'm here. Look man, we have to leave. Like now." Sam glanced nervously over his shoulder towards a window covered in grime – which apparently did nothing to block out sunlight – and was in desperate need of Windex. Rust decorated the metal sills and bled into mold. Sam shook him again, and for some reason, Dean was reminded of when Sam was little and he'd scamper over to Dean's bed and tug on his shirt after he'd had a nightmare. Sweat glistened in the creases of his brother's face and Sam was breathing like he'd just run a marathon.

Dean blinked, propped himself up on an elbow, and finally managed a half-hearted look at his surroundings. He was lying on a woven skeleton of rusted springs, completely bare of a mattress. One of the coils had popped. That would be the thing currently shish kabob-ing his ribs. He could feel the sting of a fresh cut scraping against his rough cotton shirt. Vaguely, he tried to recall the last time he'd had a tetanus shot. Couldn't remember.

The cracked walls were covered in stained plaster that looked as though it was just waiting for an opportune moment to collapse on top of their heads. Sam knelt beside the bed – _rusted hammock of death_ - visually triaging Dean as he swung his legs over the side in an effort to sit up. He took a few deep breaths, silently willing his throbbing skull and churning stomach to get a grip.

"You good to stand?" Sam's eyes shifted from his brother to the door, anxiously pleading with Dean to get a move on.

"Uh, yeah," Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and sniffed noisily – it only clogged his head and the headache returned with a vengeance.

He stood and reflexively gripped Sam's available shoulder to steady himself.

"Easy." Sam dug a dusty plastic bottle out of his jacket pocket and offered it to his brother, "Here, it'll help."

"Where'd you dig that up?" Dean grimaced at the filthy plastic.

"You don't wanna know." Sam shrugged absently. "But it was unopened and I already tried it. Haven't keeled over yet, so…"

Dean took the bottle, uncapped it and swallowed a few mouthfuls. Tasted all right - the liquid blissfully soothing his parched throat as he gulped and felt it settle in his belly. Anyway, he probably already contracted tetanus, what were a few more strands of bacteria…

"Alright," Sam lightly clapped him on the shoulder. "We need to get moving."

"Wait," The water had helped clear the cobwebs and confusion was catching up with his brain. "Sam, what the hell is happening? Where are we? Who got the jump us? Man, we weren't even in the same states!"

"I don't know," Sam answered uneasily. Dean thought he looked, not exactly frightened, but definitely on edge…jittery. _What the fuck was going on?_

"Sam, just hang on a second, huh?" Dean sat down on the edge of the mattress and brought clasped hands to his mouth. "What do you remember?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably and the muscles in his jaw tensed.

"I uh…was at a motel. Just checked in for the night. I'd gone to bed. That's about it."

_Lucifer slowly advanced a few steps, the movement loose and comfortable - the confidence of a predator closing in on his prey. His shoulders slouched casually. He quirked his head in an exaggerated show of understanding. A tangible glean of trust. _

"_I will never lie to you," He hummed. "I will never trick you. But you will say yes to me."_

"_You're wrong," Sam steeled his shoulders despite their shaking, determined to keep the terror devouring his mind in check. _

"_I'm not," Lucifer assured. A playful smile slithered across thin lips. "I think I know you better than you know yourself."_

_Sam couldn't help the hot tears that leaked down his flushed cheeks. He felt the fear, the sheer desperation pierce his heart like a white-hot needle. It wasn't a request. It was a death sentence. The breath stuttering in his chest was irrelevant. He might as well already be dead. _

_He choked back an angry sob. "Why me?"_

_Lucifer's grin was hideously gleeful. "Because it had to be you, Sam," He shook his head as though reprimanding a child for questioning his adults._

"_It always had to be you."_

"Woke up here, with you." Sam swallowed and glanced up, hoping against hope that his short exposition would fly. Dean stared fixedly, the creases around his eyes betraying his disbelief. Well, Dean could believe whatever the hell he wanted to. Sam was still too busy trying to convince himself he'd been dreaming. He didn't have the energy or the desire to try to convince Dean of anything.

Sam hurriedly broke the uncomfortable silence. "What about you?"

Dean's questioning gaze lingered, but he sighed in resignation and rubbed his jaw.

"Pep-talking with Cas," he grunted, all the while moving the wandering hand to the back of his neck. "He's working through some daddy issues."

"_What about you?"_

_Castiel turned to look at Dean, politely anticipating. Dean swallowed around the tightness in his throat. Clearing it, he spoke with levity. _

"_Honestly? I'm good," he huffed a laugh, adding credence. "I can't believe I'm saying that but I am, I'm…I'm really good."_

_The angel stared for a moment before turning his gaze back to the road. "Even without your brother?"_

_That tightness again. Except not his throat…his heart. He gripped the steering wheel harder and steely eyes narrowed on the flashing pavement. _

"_Especially without my brother."_

"Whoever zapped us better not have touched my wheels," Dean stood abruptly as realization set in. "If those winged bastards went all angelic-teleportation-ejection-seat on me and turned my baby into a tin can, they won't have to worry about Lucifer. I'll send all their feathered asses right back up to heaven _for_ the son of a bitch!"

"Dean," Sam held his hands out in a placating gesture. "I think we have bigger problems to worry about."

"Oh, you mean like _where_ they zapped us to, for instance," Dean shouted as he gestured around the room. He was frustrated, nauseous, and clueless in every sense of the word – a combination he wasn't too keen on.

"Just…just look out the window." Sam hesitantly gestured over to the panel of filthy glass shrouded by cheap, moth-eaten curtains. Dean warily eyed the dingy window before strolling over to take a look.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting. Zachariah's heavenly holding cell, maybe? Certainly not a god-forsaken street littered with immobilized cars and crumbling buildings – not the remnants of civilization. Weeds devoured brick and cement. Every store and house in sight was either a charred pile of ash or an ancient mess of rubble. Only a few buildings stood erect, and even they looked like they were one greedy termite away from collapse.

The stench of death hung thick and crimson in the air, like an infected wound.

Broken shards of glass, rotting garbage, discarded belongings, all ripe with decay _and not a living soul in sight. _

"Well, that can't be good," Dean muttered. "Seriously, what the hell? Where is everybody?" He turned back to face his brother and nearly jumped out of his skin when he spotted the body lying in the corner behind the bed.

"Jesus," Dean gasped as his mind processed the image.

It looked to be a middle-aged man, matted gray beard and long dirty hair obscuring most of his face. A fresh puddle of blood pooled underneath his head. He couldn't have been dead longer than a half hour. More alarming, were the numerous boils, about the size of baseballs, decorating every inch of visible flesh. They were still oozing. Dark yellow pus mixed with flecks of gooey black and trickled sluggishly down to mingle with the blood.

Dean pried his eyes from the gruesome sight and glanced up at his brother. "Sam?"

Sam avoided the gaze. "He was what woke me up."

"What do you mean?" Dean's voice lowered to a dangerous decibel. Alarm bells sounding off in his head.

Sam's breathing hitched slightly as he tried to explain, "I woke up…on the floor and this…this guy was choking me. I got it together and pushed him off. He felt like a bag of bones."

Dean noted that the dead man was indeed, grotesquely thin. Like he hadn't eaten a proper meal in months.

"I tried talking to him, reasoning. Told him I wasn't going to hurt him. But he wouldn't listen." Sam's haunted gaze traveled over to the body. "Dean, he was crazy."

"Yeah, obviously," Dean bent down to get a better look. "Crazy hobo."

"No, I mean…" Sam paused, struggling to find the right words. Trying to make his brother understand. "He was sick. Completely out of his head."

And Dean saw the first genuine twinge of fear cloud Sam's eyes. "He tried to bite me."

"Sam, things try to bite us all the time," Dean snorted incredulously. "Just part of the gig."

"He wasn't a thing," Sam stared down at the floor and gulped. "He was human."

"He didn't…did he?"

"Didn't what?"

"Bite you?" Dean gave his little brother a once over. "I mean he's probably carrying bubonic plague or something."

"No," Sam swallowed thickly, his face paled. "He came at me. God, Dean…you didn't see his eyes. He wasn't going to stop. I didn't…I couldn't…I don't even know what happened."

Dean followed his brother's gaze and noticed the jagged shard of glass embedded in the man's skull, blood already congealing around the edges.

"I know," Dean couldn't stop himself from doing what came as naturally as breathing – reassuring his brother. Then added without thinking, "From the looks of the him, it was basically a mercy killing."

Sam looked like he was going to throw up.

"Sorry, I didn't mean-"

"No, I know." Sam shook his head, took a deep breath, and rolled his tense shoulders. "Dean, we really do need to leave. He may not be the only one here."

"Yeah, where exactly is here?" Dean sighed in exasperation. "It's like somebody dropped us in the middle of fucking Chernobyl." Dean patted himself down, searching all of his usual hiding places. "And no firepower. Not even the damn pig sticker," he grumbled after rummaging in his boot. "You have anything on you?"

"No, nothing."

"Well this is just…awesome." He suddenly looked confused and placed his hands on his hips. "How come you woke up so damn perky? I feel like I was hit by a rogue refrigerator."

"I didn't," Sam knelt down beside the bed, attempting to pry the metal leg off one of the corners. "I felt weird, but you know, the whole _crazy guy trying to kill_ me thing... Probably adrenaline. Cleared my head pretty quick. Here, help me with this."

Dean sighed, rubbing his head - trying in vain to knead away the ache - and knelt beside his brother. The two of them put their weight together and eventually twisted the metal leg off the crumbling frame. Ugly, triangular strips of rust adorned the end of the makeshift club.

Sam tested the weight of the weapon. "Better get you one, too."

With the clothes on their backs and a couple of rusted rods, the brothers ventured cautiously outside the room. Dean led the way down a narrow hall. Moldy wallpaper peeled in clumps from the top down, and the smell clinging to what remained of the dingy carpet was reminiscent of a cesspool. In it's heyday it could've been a pretty snazzy hotel. Numbered doors lined the hall, most of them closed. A few stood ajar on broken hinges and opened to inky blackness. Like gaping mouths waiting to close.

"Freakin' bed of roses," Dean muttered in disgust as he stepped over a suspicious looking mound scattered over the carpet. Sam followed suit.

Both stopped dead in their tracks when a chilling sound whistled free from the shadows behind them. A grating cackle that couldn't possibly be laughter accompanied the lazy creaking of a door. Both filtered through the stale air and caused the blood to run cold in Dean's veins.

The brothers spun on their heels in unison, rods at the ready. They watched as a hand emerged to clasp the door of room 217 - a good two doors behind them. The hand was skeletal, and pale almost to translucence. The ends of sickly fingers were bloody nail beds, although the thumbnail still appeared to be hanging on for dear life. An arm quickly followed, attached to a jutting shoulder. Oozing boils covered almost every inch of visible flesh. A face – or what was left of it – popped around the corner and a woman grinned through a few bloody teeth. She wilted against the wall before collapsing into a cross-legged position in the middle of the hallway.

_Her face_. Dean couldn't stop staring at her face. Her head was bald, save a few patches of stringy hair tangled in the mess of sores decorating her scalp and jaw. Her bottom lip was one long, jagged split, and ran to her chin. The two flaps of flesh were gummy and swollen. They swayed as her mouth split open, grinning up at them. In spite of everything, her eyes were what sent icy pricks of terror crawling the length of Dean's spine. No natural color…the irises were a spider web of blood red.

They were the eyes of a mortally wounded predator. Nothing save instinct, rage, and hate - devoid of humanity. She assessed the brothers every move, anticipating and savagely gleeful.

Dean instinctively shoved his arm in front of his brother and roughly pushed Sam behind him.

"Sam, get back," he warned, keeping his voice as low as possible.

Before Sam could protest, the woman quirked her head to the side and licked her top lip with a shriveled, blackened tongue.

"Mmm…Sam," she hissed. "Sam. Sam I am. Green eggs and ham."

The brother's exchanged a confused look, Dean shoved them both another step backwards. The woman rose to her hands and knees. Her body rocking gently as she began crawling towards them.

"Sam I am…likes green eggs and ham. Ham. I like ham," she clicked her black tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Pink. Piggy. Pink like a piggy…"

"Lady," Dean pointed the rod as he retreated another step, bodily shielding Sam. "Look, I don't wanna hurt you, but you need to stop where you are."

"Dean," Sam brushed his brother's shoulder. "Let's just go, she's not going to follow."

"Yeah," Dean snorted. His tone was disbelieving, wary from years of experience. "How do you know?"

"Look at her, she's too weak," Sam felt a twinge of pity looking down at the mess of a woman.

"Sam, I'm not taking any chances."

"Ssssaaam…" The woman braced a gnarled hand against the wall. "Sam…pink like a piggy. Niiiice, salty…salty, salted pork. No chances, Sam I am, no chance cards. Don't pass go." She threw back her head and the flaps of skin hanging from her bottom lip slapped against her neck. She cackled before grinding her teeth as a painful wheeze rattled from her chest. Suddenly, she sprang to her feet, screaming wildly, and lunged for the two men.

Dean didn't hesitate. He swung the rod, landing a powerful blow on top of her head. Sam heard a sickening thud as metal connected with skull. The woman crumpled in a bloody pile of limbs at their feet.

"Jesus," Dean breathed, slightly shaken. "You were right. No reasoning with these bastards."

He raised the rod over the woman's body and braced his legs before Sam caught his bicep.

"Dean, what're you doing?" Sam glared intently.

"Sam," Dean stared back, undeterred. "She's still breathing."

"She's not getting up any time soon. Come on, let's just get out of here."

Dean hesitated, glancing from the woman to his brother's pleading eyes. He shook his head and lowered the weapon. He turned back and faced the length of hallway. He could see it ended in a case of stairs about thirty feet from where they stood.

"Fine," Dean hefted the rod and started walking. "Watch our rear," he instructed.

The stairs were mercifully empty. The doors to the entrance were nonexistent. Broken shards of glass mingled with cracked pieces of tile. Leaves and debris were scattered over the front desk and destroyed pieces of furniture littered the entryway.

The outside world was just as shocking as it had been from the window. Dean took a few steadying breathes. _Get a grip. _

They made their way over the debris to the street. Something that could've once been a person sat in a rusted truck, skeletal fingers still clenching the steering wheel, dried pieces of skin and clothing hung in ragged tatters over skewed limbs. Empty eye sockets stared out of a broken window. Dean grimaced but kept moving, Sam on his heels. His little brother looked just as shell-shocked as Dean felt.

Dean was approaching the end of a brick wall that dipped into an alleyway when he heard a loud thump, like someone had been thrown against a door. He held up his hand in warning, but Sam had already stopped to listen.

Muffled snarls and the sound of crunching…like someone was cracking walnuts.

The boys peered cautiously around the side. Two men sat huddled over a red heap in the road. They squatted unceremoniously beside each other, facing a row of dumpsters. These were just as filthy and decrepit as the other two they'd come across earlier – and barely clothed. Boils covered their bodies and pink salvia dripped from their chins as they buried their teeth into the meal at their feet. Dean heard a slurping tear as a piece of flesh was ripped from the pile. He realized with disgusted horror that one of the men had bitten into the calf of a leg. Other body parts suddenly emerged with startling clarity from the tangle of flesh. Intestines. A hand, gnawed at the fingers. Patches of black hair clung to flaps of skin and lay scattered in the pile. He heard Sam stifle a gag behind him and Dean couldn't help the shudder of revulsion that turned his stomach and made it difficult to swallow.

He motioned silently to turn back and quickly followed his brother away from the horrible scene.

"Oh my God," Sam whispered once they had retreated out of range. His face was the color of chalk. He ran a shaky hand through his hair.

"Sam," Dean caught his breath and looked up at his brother. "We're in deep shit."

"Yeah," Sam's eyes had gone wide and his breathing quickened as he glanced over Dean's shoulder. "You could say that."

Dean spun around and immediately tensed, his body already pumping with adrenaline. Emerging from the dark doors of what they had previously assumed to be abandoned buildings, were a group of people. Seven in total. Two women - one without a top and the other missing an ear – and five men. An atrocious gang of animated corpses. Gray skin and leaking sores…all mingled with dark blood.

They snarled and glared appraisingly at the newcomers. Their colorless, bloodshot eyes seeking out signs of weakness. The man out in front, a looming, twiggy wraith with long strands of dark hair covering the diseased skin of his chest, took a step forward. He smiled wickedly through cracked lips and clicked his teeth in anticipation. As if taking a cue, the topless woman started clapping her hands and laughing hysterically.

Dean didn't wait to see what came next. His hand flailed before catching hold of his brother's jacket.

"Run!"

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**A/N: Okay, basically if people are interested in this nuttiness, I'll try to have the next chapter up within a day or so. Click that button and let me know ;) Thanks for reading! ~P**


	2. Chapter 2

**So thanks to everyone who followed and reviewed! Here be the next installment of my apocalypse saga. I do feel the need to note that this chapter has a bit of exposition and is really just getting the boys moving in the right direction - finding their bearings in a nutty wasteland - although there is liquor involved here so I wouldn't count it as a total loss ;) Not to worry, plenty of angst and torture are forthcoming so don't give up on me just yet! **

**- As a side note, I'm just going to go ahead and point out that this story isn't necessarily going to follow the plot points of 5x04 - yes the setting is the same but I'm definitely changing things up. That's not to say there won't be similarities, but just sayin' :) **

**Disclaimer: Boys still ain't mine. Dadgummit...**

**Okay, please enjoy this next chapter and I hope to have an update within the next few days! **

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_Dean spun around and immediately tensed, his body already pumping with adrenaline. Emerging from the dark doors of what they had previously assumed to be abandoned buildings, were a group of people. Seven in total. Two women - one without a top and the other missing an ear – and five men. An atrocious gang of animated corpses. Gray skin and leaking sores…all mingled with dark blood._

_They snarled and glared appraisingly at the newcomers. Their colorless, bloodshot eyes seeking out signs of weakness. The man out in front, a looming, twiggy wraith with long strands of dark hair covering the diseased skin of his chest, took a step forward. He smiled wickedly through cracked lips and clicked his teeth in anticipation. As if taking a cue, the topless woman started clapping her hands and laughing hysterically._

_Dean didn't wait to see what came next. His hand flailed before catching hold of his brother's jacket._

_"Run!"_

* * *

Running sucked ass. Running for your life with a hoard of crazed, bloodthirsty maniacs chasing you down like a damn ice cream truck? Well, there were more productive things he could be doing with his time. Like killing the fuckers if he just had his goddamn gun!

Ah, well - spilt milk and all that shit. He skimmed around a looming wall and pulled Sam behind him before throwing his body over the bars of an iron fence and landing unceremoniously on his ass. Sam swung himself up and over before dropping down lithely to his feet. Dean rolled his eyes but didn't have time to properly harass his brother's ballerina moves before the cast of _Living Dead _had rounded the corner and were bodily slamming themselves into the bars. Arms flailing, teeth gnashing, and Dean could've sworn he saw a few blisters explode on impact.

Sam grabbed his arm, pulled him to his feet, and then they were back to hauling ass. The wackos were fast, granted, but they were also starving, weakened with disease. Their stamina teetered out and eventually only the twiggy, dark haired man was in pursuit. The others straggled behind, eventually giving up and slinking back into the shadows. Sam led the way down a narrow passage littered with garbage and crawling with rats. Dean nearly tripped over a pile of bags and as his foot collided, four of the little bastards skittered towards the cover of a nearby dumpster. He couldn't help his cry of disgust.

"Ahh! Shit!" He hopped on his left foot and shook the other to rid it of the phantom sensation of tiny feet crawling up his jeans.

"Dean," Sam shouted over his shoulder. "Quit screwing around and move your ass!" He waited only a moment to make sure Dean recovered his balance before seemingly kicking his foot through the wall. Dean watched as he ducked into the shelter of a small door hidden behind the pile-up of trash. Dean glanced over his shoulder to see the diseased wraith closing in fast. He nearly flew right past the door in his haste, but Sam reached out an impossibly long arm at the last second and flung him inside before slamming the door.

"Help me!" Sam braced his shoulder against the boards just as Dean heard the thump of a body colliding from the other side. He jammed his own shoulder next to his brother and they waited. Listening intently.

Silence.

Both started a few seconds later as another slam jolted their bodies against each other. Dean's cringed when he heard the sound of fingernails scratching against the wood. At least that's what he assumed the awful noise was. It was making his teeth hurt.

A low hum, like air whistling through a tunnel, echoed from the other side, "Baaabies…"

Sam looked at his brother and Dean watched his throat work as he glanced nervously at the piece of wood separating them from the horror of a man standing just outside. It shouldn't have been so frightening. After all, they were hunters. Men hardened by years of bizarre and tragic experiences. But that…thing outside – it was your worst nightmare brought suddenly to life and waiting patiently to tear the skin from your bones. There was no talking, no reasoning with him. Any trace of humanity buried beneath black layers of insanity and rage. And perhaps that was the most terrible bit to think about. That _thing_ used to be human. Sam closed his eyes and prayed to whoever was listening for the man to just go away. He'd about reached his limit.

"Baaabies," The man sang again, his voice a gurgling snarl. "Come out…play with me. Babies…have to be fed. Have to feed. Have to come out soon, babies. I play hide and seek." His voice shrank to the barest of whispers. "Used to play games with my babies…"

A strangled laugh accompanied another violent bang against the door, it was too heavy to be a fist - could've been his forehead. Dean braced his legs more firmly.

"Can't hide forever, babies," One fingernail ran down the length of the door and paused, "I'm good at games."

Then nothing. Complete silence. Minutes passed and what sounded like someone shuffling slowly over the debris outside. More silence. Dean heard himself exhale as he released a breath he hadn't known he was suppressing.

"Locks broken," Sam finally whispered.

Dean tossed him a _no shit Sherlock _eye roll. "Yeah, thanks to your overgrown Sasquatch feet."

"Well, excuse me if I didn't want to be that guy's lunchable," Sam scowled defensively. "Let's bring that over." He nodded at a couch sitting beside them against the wall.

"Please," Dean scoffed. "That dude was one strong gust of wind away from being rat food."

Sam didn't say anything. Didn't bother calling Dean out on the fact that he'd obviously been just as disturbed as Sam. Rat food or not, that guy had been seriously fucked up.

They shoved the couch, which turned out to be considerably heavier than it looked, in front of the wooden door before bracing the ancient lock with one of the rods. Their eyes were slowly adjusting to the dim light and they took a moment to get their bearings.

They were standing in a small living room. Windows on either side boarded with rusted nails and only allowing the smallest slivers of light onto patches of the wooden floor. A sink sat below a tiny microwave to their left and along the back wall towards the center stood another closed door. Except for the couch and a smudged coffee table, the room was completely bare of furniture. Dean looked at his brother, shrugged, and walked over to the door. It was unlocked and he cautiously pushed it open.

They were met with a short flight of stairs that turned into a hallway and seemed to meet a dead end. No apparent use, whatsoever. He could barely see his hand in front of his face in the near darkness. Giving up, he spun around and knocked against Sam's shoulders.

"Sam," his voice echoed. Apparently, the ceiling was higher than he thought. "You don't have to stand so close."

"I can't see anything either, Dean." But his brother made no move to back up and Dean was just about to shove him when Sam began hopping on his feet like a damn rabbit.

"What the-"

"Shh," Sam cut him off. "You hear that?" Sam crouched down and as far as Dean could tell, began searching the floor. Dean mimicked his brother, bouncing a little on his heels and soon discovered what Sam was talking about. There was a little give and he heard boards creaking under his weight. He squatted beside Sam and his fingers scraped against cool metal.

"Hey, hey I think I found something." He curled his hand around a heavy loop and pulled. At first nothing happened, the boards protested. But he used the strength of his braced legs as leverage and gave another powerful tug. With a loud crack, like a shotgun going off, a hatch door flew open. The brothers stumbled away as a vile smell wafted up from the blackness, like it had been waiting all this time to be set free. Death and decay clung to their nostrils as they gagged and tried desperately to breathe through their mouths.

"Damn," Dean coughed and brought his sleeve to his nose. "Maid hasn't been here in a while." He peered down the rabbit hole. "Hello? Anybody home?" It was quieter than a church pew. Dean gripped the remaining rod of iron in front of his body before descending down the first step.

Sam heard a loud crack and Dean's startled cry as he was snatched away from Sam's grasp and hurtled into the darkness.

"Dean?!" Sam shouted frantically. "Dean!"

Sam heard a low groan filter up through the darkness.

"Hey! Dean, you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm okay," his brother's voice sounded strained.

"What happened?"

"Damn stairs broke and…" Dean let out a disgusted yelp. "Ah, shit. I think I fell on our host."

"Okay, hang on. I'm coming down."

"Sam, careful." Dean cautioned. "You weigh as much as two quarterbacks. If that thing couldn't hold me-"

"I got it," Sam didn't wait for his brother to finish. He found his footing on the second step and gingerly pressed his weight down. When it held, he carefully edged his body into the hole where his feet eventually met soft ground. The smell was amplified twenty times over, Sam could barely breathe.

He swung his arms back and forth through the air, searching for his brother.

"Dude, where are you?"

"Here," Dean grunted. It sounded like he was still untangling himself.

"Christ," Sam blew out a relieved breath. "You know how to make an entrance."

"Shut up, bitch." Dean growled before finally hauling himself to his feet. "Still can't see a damn thing," he griped.

Sam took a few random steps, feeling for a wall or anything that might lend him a sense of direction. He subsequently bumped against a sturdy structure sitting about two feet to the right of him. His hands quickly found purchase and he began feeling around what felt like shelves. Something toppled from one of them and landed at his feet. He leaned over to pick the thing up. If it _was_ what it felt like... Sam found the switch and flicked on the flashlight. Batteries still worked – _jackpot._ He shined the light around the room before settling the glare on his brother.

"Boo," Sam snickered. Dean scowled before following Sam's gaze and the triangle of light down to the floor.

"Ugh," Dean hopped away a few feet and shivered dramatically.

"That's who you were spooning, huh?" Sam cringed.

"This day just keeps getting better," Dean groaned as he stared down at the pile of mummified corpse staring up with unblinking eyes.

They must've been standing in the old man's basement. Dean took a look around. Sam was standing beside a shelf as tall as he was. Laden with shelves from top to bottom and littered with a meager stock of supplies. A few candles, two extra flashlights, box of matches, five cans of beans, a coil of wire, half-filled bottle of prescription pills, toolbox, rolls of toilet paper, and a box of 9mm casings. Books and trash lay scattered over the dirt floor and an ancient generator sat in a lonely corner.

Dean grabbed an extra flashlight, flicked it on and spun on his heels.

"Has to be somewhere," he muttered, rummaging through the shelves.

"What?" Sam's beam of light followed his brother's back.

"The old man's gun, Sam. It has to be here somewhere. Why else would he be packing lead?"

Dean shone the light over each corner. He sighed in exasperation before something caught his attention. He crouched by the body of the man and Sam heard bones cracking as Dean pried the fingers apart.

"Got it," he announced triumphantly. It was a small Kel-Tec. Seven-round, single-stack PF-9, Sam noted when he got a better look.

"Not bad," Dean tested the weight of the firearm, loaded it with the shells from the box, and nodded approvingly before holstering the weapon in the back of his jeans. The familiar weight reassuring him like little else did.

Sam watched the process unfold and smiled to himself. "Feel better now?"

"Damn straight." Dean patted the back of his jeans and cast a disapproving look at the shelf.

"Okay, first things first. We need to go hunt down supplies. Not gonna last long on this measly helping of cowboy food." The discovery of the gun had not only invigorated Dean, it seemed to have replenished the motivation he needed to regain a sense of control over the situation. Sam was more than happy to let him take the reins for a while.

"Need to find water, too." Dean took note of the empty plastic jugs strewn haphazardly in one of the corners.

"I think there was a general store not too far from here," Sam offered. "Or I saw something like it when we were running."

"Good, okay. You think you can find your way back?"

"Yeah, I think so. But Dean, don't you think we should probably – you know…" Sam waved his hand at the body and then towards the hatch. "I think my sense of smell died like ten minutes ago."

"Yeah, good idea," Dean agreed. "We only have a few hours of sunlight. We'll have to come back here for the night, anyway."

They set about the unpleasant task of hauling the dead man through the hole and dragging him up the stairs. They laid him out in the upstairs room. Sam dropped his end and swiped at his arms, grimacing at the dust and blood decorating the sleeves of his jacket.

"Man, you think we'll ever get to take a shower again?" His bottom lip was verging dangerously close to pout territory and Dean couldn't help chuckling.

"Come on, princess," he grabbed Sam's jacket sleeve. "I think you'll survive Bear Grylls-ing it for a day."

"Get off me," Sam shook his arm free from Dean's grip and moved ahead for the door. Dean drew the pistol as Sam shoved the couch aside and pulled the rod free of the lock. He mouthed _on three_ to Dean before counting down and swinging the door open. When nothing jumped them, Dean moved ahead of his brother and they made their way cautiously out into the alley. Sam braced the door as best he could and threw a few bags of rotting garbage in front of the entrance.

"Okay," Dean breathed quietly. "Which way?"

* * *

"Hey, Sam, check it out."

Sam rose from his crouch and took a few steps to lean over Dean's shoulder. Dean smirked up at him and brushed off a sizable wooden case buried underneath another pile of dusty junk. In faded red lettering scrawled across the top it read, _McGavin's Premium Whiskey._

"Dean-" Sam rolled his eyes and turned back to his own diggings.

Sam had managed to locate the store without much difficulty and thankfully they had been spared any further encounters on the way. Surprisingly, the structure had remained relatively intact. The outside was weathered and the entrance was nearing collapse but for the most part, it was holding. For the past half hour they had been rummaging through the remains of the dilapidated building, occasionally coming across something useful and throwing it into the two packs they'd managed to dig up. The store seemed to have a little bit of everything – from food and clothing items to kitchen appliances and fishing poles.

"Aw, come on Sammy," Dean bereted good-naturedly. "Lighten up. Besides, weren't we supposed to be hunting for supplies?"

"Yeah, useful supplies, Dean. I don't think a crate of booze counts as useful. Cumbersome, maybe." Sam dug a worn leather box out of the rubble. He opened it and was pleased to discover a fairly well preserved set of Cutco kitchen knives. He slid the serrated butcher's knife into his bag.

"Oooo, college boy with his fancy words," Dean whistled. "Think of it as medical supplies, grandma. You can't deny the _usefulness _on that account."

"Whatever, Dean. But I'm not carrying that," Sam turned to face his brother, eyebrows raised in warning. "If we have to run, I'm not getting stuck lugging a fifteen pound crate around. That's all you."

Dean grinned triumphantly, "You'll thank me later, bitch."

"Uh huh," Sam tucked a few more items inside his bag before bracing it over his shoulder and standing. "We should start heading back."

"Yeah," Dean slung the strap of his own bag across his chest and hauled the crate on top of his shoulder. "Right behind you."

"Hey," Sam halted abruptly and stared at a display of radios. "Lemme check something, first." He took off his jacket, wrapped it around his forearm and smashed through the glass. Delicate shards sprinkled all over the floor as Sam reached in and pulled out a compact, matte box. He checked for batteries and tapered with the switches.

"Sam, this is pointless. That-" The next words caught in Dean's throat as he startled at the hum of static suddenly filling the air. "Son of a bitch…" he muttered in awe.

The brother's crouched down, completely baffled, and Dean watched intently as Sam turned the controls. Static continued to pepper through the transmission and Sam looked like he was about to give up. Suddenly, a voice that sounded millions of miles away jumped through the speakers. It sounded like a woman. They could barely make out the broken words. But Dean managed to catch a few, none of them very inspiring.

"…_-ody can hear...'s alone…please co-…last survi…in Detroi-…" _And the voice faded completely in a blur of static.

The brothers sat quietly for a moment, staring at each other and then back down at the radio.

"Son of a bitch," Dean repeated.

"What do you think?" Sam was looking nervous again, indecisive. His eyebrows pinched in concentration.

"Honestly," Dean scratched the back of his neck. "I don't know, man. I mean, it could be legit. Might be our only shot of finding somebody in this hell-hole who isn't a diseased maniac. Could just be a trick. You know, whoever zapped us here, luring us in. I just…who knows?" Dean threw up his hands in exasperation. His energy from earlier was draining quickly with the realization that he didn't have a clue what to do next.

Sam studied his brother for a moment before standing. "Okay," he glanced around the store. "Okay, here, yeah." He walked over to a rack of brochures still standing idly behind the counter of 'Customer Services' and came back with a map. "So we're definitely in Michigan," he announced. "Let's just get back for right now and we can plan our next move."

Dean nodded, hanging his head in defeat and followed his brother towards the exit.

They carefully picked their way over the odds and ends littering their route. By the time they made it back, the sun had nearly disappeared and Dean was only a little disappointed he still hadn't come across an excuse to try out his new toy. They hauled the loot inside the sanctuary of the basement before locking and bracing the hatch.

Dean lit a few candles and popped open a bag of jerky before sitting down in front of his bag to take stock. Sam sat down opposite with his own bag and the map folded carefully beside his knees.

"Oh," Dean's eyes lit up and he rubbed his hands in anticipation. "Almost forgot." He dragged the crate over and proceeded to pry open the lid. Inside sat six dusty but undamaged bottles of McGavin's finest. Dean pulled the first bottle free.

"How 'bout it, Sammy?"

"No thanks."

"Prude."

"Dean," Sam sighed wearily. "Knock yourself out. I need to work on finding our route."

"Suit yourself," Dean unscrewed the cap and took a healthy swig, grimacing as the liquor burned his throat. He sat down, cross-legged and began removing items from the bag. Sam was already engrossed in the map spread open across his lap.

"So what's our next step, Magellan," Dean asked as he recoiled a length of rope and placed it neatly beside a box of matches.

"Well, we're right on the outskirts of Lansing, about fifteen miles or so. And that distress call, didn't the woman say Detroit?"

"I think so," Dean took another drink. "The transmission was so jumpy I couldn't make out a whole hell of a lot."

"Yeah, me either," Sam traced something with his finger, completely concentrated on the paper in front of him.

"She sounded hot…you know in a distressed damsel kind of way."

Sam didn't even blink as he tapped a spot on the map decidedly. "I think that's our best bet for finding any kind of civilization. It's a start at least."

"Or a deathtrap," Dean swallowed uncomfortably. "City could be swarming with wackos."

Sam stared past Dean, a pained expression creasing his features. "This is crazy," he laughed bitterly. "We get dropped in the middle of a freaking post-apocalyptic wasteland, no idea why, or if we'll ever get back. No clue what the hell we're supposed to be doing or if we should be trying to escape, everybody here's gone nuts, no electricity-"

"Sam, I know you and your laptop had a pretty intimate thing going, but man-"

"I'm serious Dean," Sam was becoming increasingly agitated. "Or what if this is just another one of the Trickster's fucked up games we're supposed to play along with until one of us gets screwed over or dies…and then the other one's going to wake up, back where he's supposed to be, and nothing's changed?" Sam's voice was pitching to near hysteria. "Except, you know, you're one man down."

"Sam-" Dean tried again. His little brother looked like he was on the verge of tears.

"I just…I can't do that again, Dean," Sam glanced up, eyes wide and glassy. "And what about all of this shit with the angels…and Lucifer's loose on a playground somewhere? I mean we don't have a damn clue what's going on or-"

"Sam!" Dean scooted over to his brother's side and braced a palm against his heaving chest.

"Hey, you need to calm down." His tone softened. "We'll figure this out, okay Sammy? Don't worry. We're in this, you and me."

Sam nodded as his breathing quieted and the steely mask gradually fell back into place – piece by piece. Dean felt an uncomfortable tightness clench inside his chest. For a moment, Sam had been his _little brother_ again - uncertain and depending on Dean to make things right. He missed that job more than he cared to admit to himself.

"Gimme that," Sam gestured for the bottle and Dean handed it over. Sam took a long pull, coughing against the sting, and immediately took another.

"Hey," Dean quirked his eyebrows. "Save some for me."

Sam's smile was toxic. He raised the bottle to his lips. "Better grab another..."

* * *

"Dibs!"

"Bullshit!" Dean cried. "You've had like…infinity dibs!" He took another drink and passed the bottle back to Sam.

"No I haven't," Sam whined dramatically. He gulped a mouthful and swiped a palm over his moist lips. "You got the last _two_ before this!"

"That's 'cause you cheated, bitch."

"Dean, you can't cheat at a made up game," Sam huffed.

Dean drained the last bit of liquid from their third bottle, burped loudly, and grappled for a fourth out of the crate. It sat somewhere behind him and when he turned to dig, the wall kind of tilted with him. He ended up on his back.

"Well, somehow you did, because the rules are you can't call dibs when I already dibbed like five turns ago," He rolled on his side to glare at his little brother while he grappled with the cap.

"I didn't!" Sam shrieked, his eyes comically wide with indignation.

"My ass you didn't."

"I-" Sam's mouth pinched and his nostrils flared. "You know what? Fine. Have it."

"No!" Dean bounced up and whiskey from the uncapped bottle splashed all over his forearm. "I don't want your lame ass dib. I can get my own!"

"Okay, then. Go." Sam made an exaggerated gesture before swiping the bottle out of Dean's hand. Dean sat silently, glaring down at the liquid clinging to the hairs on his arm. He swallowed and looked up at Sam, confusion etched across his face.

"Well?" Sam encouraged. "What's a matter?"

"Um…" Dean tilted his head and seemed to be thinking very hard about something.

"Yeah?"

"I don't remember what we were dibbing…" Dean's face crumpled and he reminded Sam of a kid who'd just dropped his ice cream cone.

"You know what?" A slow, lazy grin crawled across Sam's lips. "I don't either." He snorted a laugh.

Dean watched his brother for a few seconds before breaking down into hysterics. Sam quickly followed suit and soon both boys lay flat on their backs giggling breathlessly at the ceiling. Sam tossed an arm over his eyes and hiccupped.

"Ow," Sam moaned, still smiling. "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean sighed contentedly and rubbed a hand across his stomach.

Sam hoisted himself up on an elbow. "I think 'm drunk…"

"Yeah," Dean offered a loopy smile.

"We drank our medical supplies," Sam glared at the crate before giving up and lying back down on the soft dirt.

"Eh," Dean laced his fingers and rested his hands behind his head. "Too heavy to drag around anyway."

"Jackass," Sam laughed, feigning annoyance. Everything felt warm and heavy, his belly full and only a little stretched. He'd sort of given up on lifting his head to see his brother. He watched as the candlelight flickered, casting dull, blinking shadows across the ceiling.

"Dean?" His voice was a slurred whisper. In spite of himself, his eyes began drooping.

"What, Sammy?"

"You think we'll ever get back?"

"D'you want to?"

"Well…yeah. I mean we can't stay here, right?"

"I think…" Dean was quiet for several seconds and Sam figured he'd fallen asleep. But then he heard a deep, throaty sigh. "…We can do whatever the hell we want. And who here is gonna stop us?" He felt the twinge of anger in Dean's voice. "You seen any of those feathered ass-hats yet?" Dean huffed a half-hearted laugh. "It's just you and me little brother."

Sam tried to swallow against the thickness in his throat. Hearing his brother's words, he felt a profound loneliness and sense of loss clench inside his chest. Everything they'd fought for, everyone they'd ever saved…known. _No. _He couldn't let his mind go there. Bobby was holed up in some secret panic room, stocked to the gills, and Ellen was probably about to snap his head off. He smiled at the mental image and listened to his brother's breathing even out in sleep. Sam swallowed around an uncomfortable lump, his eyes stinging as he remembered not so long ago - he'd thought he'd never hear that sound again. When he'd sat up nights drinking away the sounds of Dean's screams as he burned in Hell. And now, in spite of everything, all the shit they were going through – Sam couldn't help but indulge in a fleeting sense of comfort as he lay beside his brother. This new hell – they would make it through. Put their heads down and kick it in the ass. The fucking family business.

"Night, Dean." He closed his heavy eyelids and felt himself drifting off into the darkness.

Vaguely, he heard the rustle of clothing as his brother turned onto his side and a slurred whistle of breath that could've been, "Night, Sammy…"

* * *

**Okay, now go click that button guys! Keeps me motivated, you know, brimming with lovely ideas and whatnot ;) Thanks for reading! **

**~P**


	3. Chapter 3

**Wow, you guys are awesome. Thanks to everyone for all of the lovely reviews/follows and fun comments so far! Makes me excited to continue! *Drumroll* New chapter! Hopefully this next installment is a fun read. Please do keep sending me your thoughts as the story progresses - I so love reading them and like I mentioned, definitely keeps me motivated. Also keeps my head spinning with evil ideas as you guys contribute :) **

**Disclaimer: Boys still ain't mine, just screwing around with 'em... **

**Okay! Y'all go read :)**

* * *

_Sam swallowed around an uncomfortable lump, his eyes stinging as he remembered not so long ago - he'd thought he'd never hear that sound again. When he'd sat up nights drinking away the sounds of Dean's screams as he burned in Hell. And now, in spite of everything, all the shit they were going through – Sam couldn't help but indulge in a fleeting sense of comfort as he lay beside his brother. This new hell – they would make it through. Put their heads down and kick it in the ass. The fucking family business._

_"Night, Dean." He closed his heavy eyelids and felt himself drifting off into the darkness._

_Vaguely, he heard the rustle of clothing as his brother turned onto his side and a slurred whistle of breath that could've been, "Night, Sammy…"_

* * *

_A thousand piles of charred corpses. Broken bones and the slippery feel of fileted flesh. The smell assaulting his senses was enough to bring him to his knees. And the blood. Blood. Everywhere. Bloodbloodblood…the whole world, soaked in red. Thick, drowning…relentless. Mourning, wails of agony but how could that be? They were already dead…screaming and crying and begging for mercy nonetheless. A sea of despair…hopeless. There was nothing left. The horrible noises clawed through his skin, pierced his flesh – devoured his soul. _

_You will say yes. Yes. _

_And he was empty. There was nothing left. _

_It had to be you, Sam. Sam…_

_Sam…._

"Sam?"

_No._

"Sam? Come on, wake up."

_Nononono…._

"Goddammit, Sam. Don't make me sock you. Come on, little brother!"

Something hit the side of his jaw and his vision exploded in red.

"No!" Sam shot up with a scream, nearly banging his forehead smack into Dean's.

_No death. No blood_. _Just Dean._ Just his brother's concerned eyes searching his own. The fading candlelight cast eerie shadows across Dean's face and made him look as though his eyebrows were about three inches thick. Like black caterpillars.

Sam drew his knees to his chest, breaths heavy, mind whirling a hundred miles an hour. Dean grasped his shoulders and gave them a gentle shake.

"Hey, you good? Sammy, you with me?" He could hear the panic in Dean's voice and he wanted to say he was fine - _everything was fine_. But it wasn't. Because the images still lingered. Vivid technicolor, the scenes playing out on a torturous reel behind his closed eyelids. The screams…the terror echoing inside his skull. And _so much blood, blood…blood_. _Oh God._ He was going to be sick.

"Geez," Dean absently rubbed a hand over Sam's shoulder and clenched the nape of his neck, the movement overwhelming his senses. He swallowed reflexively as the sickness roiled in his gut.

"Freaking me out, kiddo. Moaning and thrashing around like a beached fish. You okay?"

Sam swallowed more urgently.

"Sammy?"

He barely reacted in time. Sam jerked his head away and brushed Dean's hand from his shoulder. He retched and all the liquor came back up in a violent rush, splattering onto the dirt floor. Not quite able to catch his breath, panting heavily, coughing and spitting before leaning over to throw up again.

"Whoa," Dean grimaced in disgust and backed away. Sam coughed harshly and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Dude, you _still_ suck at holding it. Seriously, it's a little embarrassing."

"Yeah, thanks." Sam spat once more then scooted away from the mess.

"Well, at least it's just dirt, " Dean fumbled with the box of matches, lit another candle and tossed his brother a can of peaches. Sam caught it midair and stared at his brother, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

"What'd you want me to do with this?"

"Uh," Dean grinned sheepishly. "Drink it?"

Sam scowled. Dean shrugged his shoulders.

"Trying to conserve the water bottles, remember?"

"Yeah, thanks. I'm good." Sam tossed the can back to his brother.

"Dude, gross," Dean made a face. "At least take a swish of it or something."

Sam shook his head and lay down on his back. "I said I'm good." He tucked a hand underneath his shirt and gently rubbed back and forth, attempting to soothe his upset stomach.

"Fine," Dean shoved the can back into his pack. "Who needs guns? You can just blow 'em to hell with your breath."

Sam ignored the comment and tried to think about something other than the eminent sense of dread pawing at the back of his mind. The darkness was no longer safe - it was suffocating him.

Dean shifted and the swift movement blew out the candle.

"Dammit," Dean cursed. "I can't see a freaking thing." Sam heard him momentarily shuffling around in the darkness before exclaiming, "Okay, this is ridiculous!"

When Dean staggered over his stretched legs, he felt a brisk slap against his calf. "Come on, Sammy, up and at 'em. We're not getting any younger. Might as well get started."

Sam stifled a groan as he rolled gingerly onto protesting stomach muscles and pushed his arms underneath him.

"Yeah, take it slow, Francis. You hurl on me and you're soloing your way to Detroit, hear?"

"Shut up," Sam muttered feebly as he felt around for his pack.

"What?" He heard Dean snickering. "It's a legitimate concern. It's pitch black, you can't see where you're aiming and I don't look good in tie-dye."

"Duly noted," Sam fumbled with his flashlight before flipping the switch and making his way over to the stairs. He squinted against the glare and felt the dull beginnings of a headache throb behind his eyes. "You coming?"

"Yeah, hang on." Dean stumbled over to the stupid crate and stowed the two extra bottles away in his pack. He straightened and smirked at his brother. "Can't let the good stuff go to waste. You got the water?" Sam nodded. "Okay, let's go."

Sam watched the amber liquid sloshing around in the bottles and felt like puking again. He fought the urge, taking a few deep breaths through his nose, and instead shoved his shoulder against the hatch. It swung aside with a groan and he hoisted his body through the opening.

Up top, the sun peeked through the boarded slits of the windows. Bright rays of early morning sunshine filtered through the dusty gloom of that tiny wooden box and caused the particles to dance as they swirled lazily through the air - like toxic snowflakes. Sam did his best to ignore the lingering smell and the body it was clinging to.

"Well," Dean paused behind his brother and took a last look at the shelter. It wasn't likely they'd have anything even close to _this_ for a while. "Forward, march." He smiled and nudged Sam's shoulder with his own - a feeble attempt at reassurance. Sam took a breath, nodded – _far too seriously _- and helped Dean shove the couch aside. Even Dean couldn't help squinting and shielding his eyes against the blinding glare as they stepped out into the daylight.

* * *

Apparently, the wackos weren't morning people. They didn't come across a single soul as they made their way through the small town and headed towards Lansing. In a strange way, it was even more disturbing - the eerie silence and desolate stretch of buildings looming around them. Like they were the only two people left on a really crappy planet. Occasionally, they caught a glimpse of a pair of blinking eyes staring out from the dark shelter of a doorway. But just as suddenly as they would flash, they were gone - so quickly Dean thought he was imagining it.

They arrived in the city late in the afternoon. The sun was sweltering and both men had removed their jackets and tied them around their heads for protection. For the third time in half an hour, Dean dug a water bottle out of his back pocket, offered it to Sam, then took a long swallow of the lukewarm liquid.

They were approaching a small cluster of buildings that must've been part of an apartment complex. The buildings encircled a pond of putrid, greenish water. Dean's nose wrinkled reflexively against the horrible stench.

"Goddamn, that reeks," he frowned. "I was wrong about Chernobyl. This is just one _gigantic_ toilet. Can't tell one fucking smell from another."

Sam didn't answer. His jaw tensed and he seemed to be listening intently for something. His head swiveled back and forth, surveying their surroundings.

"Dean," his voice was low and controlled. "I think we need to get out of the open. Find som-"

That was as far as he got before a gang of people emerged from behind the building closest to their left. It happened so quickly they might as well have been spirits. And these were different. Their skin still oozed with disease and hung in tattered, swaying globs from their bodies. But they were bigger, more focused. They looked almost well fed. A particularly giant man, his grotesque gut and tree-trunk arms swaying as he walked, appeared especially ready for action. Behind him, four other men holding makeshift clubs and heavy rusted tools gritted their teeth and smiled through bloody stains.

"Looks like we got the welcoming committee," Dean whispered to his brother as he drew the gun from the waistband of his jeans.

The action triggered a dizzying flurry of movement as all of the men leapt at once. Dean managed to take down two before the others pounced wildly at them. Sam pulled the knife and ducked a blow as he lunged forward and felt the tip of the blade slurping into the flesh of the giant man. But it was knocked from his hand as _Big Hoss _slammed against him full force, sending him sailing through the air and knocking the breath from his lungs as he landed flat on his back.

He was instantly on his feet again even as he heaved for oxygen. But the man seemed to forget about him as his bald head twisted sharply at the sound of his companion's scream. Dean was throwing punches about fifteen feet away, grappling with the other two. A third man lay writhing weakly at his feet. The giant began running towards Dean, a hurricane force of black rage.

"Behind you!" Sam shouted as he began running after the man. "Dean, behind you!"

_Shit. _Dean wasn't turning around, or he couldn't hear. Sam barreled towards his brother and just as the enormous man was pulling his fleshy arm back for a lethal blow, he crashed headlong into the mound of flesh. For a moment, time seemed to stand still and he watched the sky spin over his head in a surreal blur of orange and gray.

Then he was under water. Choking. Drowning. Massive globs of wet, rancid goop clogging his throat and coating his tongue like a slimy blanket. Water came pouring in and he couldn't help swallowing. His lungs were on fire and his heart beat furiously in his head, drowning all of his other senses.

He felt a great mass of flesh pile on top of him and after what seemed like an eternity of trying to untangle himself, something - probably the man's foot - found a landing dock against his stomach and pushed off, lodging Sam further down in the muck. His arms fought wildly through the water, tearing for the surface.

Sam knew he was losing it. He could feel himself slipping - the murky water growing darker and hazy white spots swirling around the edges of his vision.

Suddenly, he felt something grab hold of his shirt and violently jerk his body to the surface. He was gasping and coughing swamp filth and water, his lungs screaming for air. His head had been above water less than two seconds before he felt an arm snake around his neck from behind and drag him under again with an insane amount of strength. As the shields of water plowed over his head, he thought he heard Dean call his name.

This time Sam wasn't fighting the water. He threw his head back with as much force as he could muster and landed it square on the man's bulbous nose. He heard a satisfying _crack_ as the choking hold around his neck loosened. But the man had wrapped his legs around Sam's waist and he wasn't planning on letting go anytime soon.

The small pocket of air he had managed to swallow had almost depleted as the man drew his legs tighter. His lungs were being crushed by the weight of the water and the man's iron grip. He arched his back and twisted wildly, managing to land a punch against his attacker's throat.

He arched his back and rolled over, his head breaking above the surface for a split second. Enough time for him to fill his lungs but Hoss had recovered from the punch and snaked his forearm around Sam's head like a vice. With a vicious yank, the man grabbed a fistful of Sam's hair in his meaty fingers as he forced his head backwards under the water.

His entire body jerked instinctively and his head slipped out of the man's grasp. Sam began swimming for the shallow but not before the man was on him again. His feet sank into the slimy muck dwelling at the bottom of the lake and he finally managed to gain a foothold.

His boot grazed something sharp sticking out of the muck and he angled himself above it. The man had leapt from the water and his entire upper body was rushing for Sam like a mile high tsunami crashing towards a beach house. His arms outstretched, his face a nightmare of stringy, inflamed flesh and rotting skin. The insane rage in his eyes shone mercilessly and his blackened teeth grimaced through swollen gums in a twisted smile. Nothing was more important than ridding the world of Sam.

Sam forced himself to stay in position and just as the man's massive bulk threatened to engulf him, he pushed off with both feet and darted backwards as the man belly-flopped on top of the object protruding underneath the water. Sam heard a strangled cry just as the man's head hit the surface and he was instantly on top of the bulky flesh. He forced all of his weight down on the man's back and felt him sink deeper.

The man thrashed wildly and horrible gurgling sounds accompanied his last bubbles of oxygen to the surface. A fist flew up and knocked Sam's jaw. His vision spun sickeningly, but he held on and forced the man's body harder into the murky depths. Blood churned and curled through the black muck and splashed into Sam's mouth. It felt like an eternity before the man finally stopped thrashing and Sam felt the body beneath him go limp as the bubbling waves calmed.

He was gasping so hard he felt like his lungs were going to explode. He eased himself off the body and waded out of the rancid pond. His legs gave way and he collapsed in a heap on the edge of the water. He took another huge gulp of air and it caught in his lungs, choking him.

Suddenly, all the swamp filth lodged in his throat gurgled its way up and then he really couldn't breathe. He was on his hands and knees, hacking violently. His throat rubbed raw and involuntary tears tracked through the mud on his cheeks.

He retched and all the water he'd swallowed came back up. Even after he was certain they're couldn't be anything left in his stomach, his body continued to heave and shudder with the exertion. Finally, he allowed himself to sag into the soft mud, coughing miserably and wiping his nose and mouth.

Distantly, he heard four muffled claps of thunder and lifted his head towards the sound. Everything felt like it weighed a ton and the ringing in his ears was making him dizzy.

He laid his head to rest against the earth and found he could breathe a little easier now, the darkness gradually dissipating – precious swallows of air swiftly cooling the burning ache in his lungs. Suddenly, he felt a rough hand clasp his shoulder and instinctively swung his fist around, anticipating a fresh attacker. His fist connected with Dean's right arm before he could stop himself and his brother drew in a surprised breath, his mouth twisting in pain.

"Just me," Sam felt himself being hoisted up by his shoulders as Dean's practiced gaze quickly triaged. "You alright? I mean, besides swallowing the radioactive pond?"

Sam stared incredulously. Was_ HE _alright?!

Dean was a fucking mess - his jacket ripped to shreds and hanging in loose tatters. An ugly gash ran from his forehead to his eyebrow, bleeding sluggishly down his jawline. His lip was split open and his nose looked like it was broken. He also seemed to be favoring his left arm. Dean looked like he'd just gone ten rounds with a pack of hellhounds. _Or a pack of crazy, cannibalistic bastards. Whichever._

"Jesus, Dean." Sam got to his feet and only stumbled once.

"Sam are you-"

"Yes, already. Dean, I'll be fine. But man, we need to get you stitched up."

Dean's face was pale and he was shaking slightly. Very unlike his big brother and it was freaking Sam out. Maybe he'd lost more blood than Sam thought.

"I'm good," Dean insisted. He swiped a hand across his face and retrieved the pistol from where it had fallen beside the tangled pile of bodies. "We need to get moving. It'll be dark soon and I don't know about you, but these guys aren't really my idea of evening company."

Sam fell in line beside his brother and stole a final glance at the fallen mangle of corpses. Their empty eyes stared, unblinking, watching the visitors as they retreated into the oncoming darkness.

* * *

They approached the ruins of an automotive shop and ducked behind the crumbling brick. Dean heard the crunch of the can a second too late and turned to see two figures making their way around the corner of the alley. One of them, the taller of the two, kicked a rusted coke can from his path and drew a pistol from the front of his pants. The other raised a sawed off shotgun from underneath a ratty trench coat and viciously pumped it. Instinctively, Dean's hand flew to the band of his jeans but Sam knew they had no chance against the overwhelming firepower and threw his brother a warning glance. As the two men drew nearer, Sam was able to get a better look.

They didn't appear to be sick. None of the physical signs they'd grown accustomed to anyway, and they walked with purpose. Still, there was definitely something off, though Sam was having a hard time putting his finger on what it was.

The taller of the two men, the one aiming the pistol, was a skinny blonde with a straight nose and beady, yellowish eyes. His hair was cut to the quick, his face relatively clean-shaven, and he stood erect, his head thrown back as he stared at the brothers. He reminded Sam of a Nazi soldier. His companion was short, stocky and his nose didn't seem to have a beginning or an end. The flesh stretched above his mouth like a pug dog. This one was completely bald and streaks of dirt and grime covered his meaty face.

"What we got us here?" Pug grinned through a missing front tooth and jutted the business end of his shotgun in the brother's direction.

"Look," Dean held up his hands. "We don't want any trouble. Let's all just take it easy, huh?"

"Trouble," Nazi snorted down his long nose, his nasally voice slightly affected. "Trouble follows us all, and you have trouble whether you want it or not."

Dean glanced nervously in his brother's direction before taking a slow step forward. Nazi was having none of it. He took two short steps towards Dean and held the gun steady down his line of sight.

"I don't think you want to be doing that," he warned. Then he cocked his head to the side and stared curiously at Sam. "What are your names?" His eyes flicked between the brothers and then narrowed as if coming to a decision.

"None of your damn business," Dean growled.

"Mmm," Nazi hummed through his nose. "No matter. You're coming with us, yeah?" He motioned to his partner who happily obliged by skirting around and aiming his weapon at their backs.

"Drop everything," Nazi ordered. His smile was almost pleasant. "And I do mean _everything._"

"Now just hold on a second," Dean's pale face flushed red and Sam saw the veins bulging in his neck. He rested a firm hand on Dean's shoulder, silently willing him to just cooperate. He wasn't really seeing a second option that didn't include them being turned into Swiss cheese.

Dean frowned but began slowly removing his pack straps. He tossed his pistol into the dirt. Sam followed suit and Nazi moved forward to grab the weapons. He gestured for his partner to do the same with the bags. They were roughly frisked down before Pug nodded at his boss and he slung the two packs over his shoulder.

Dean shot Nazi a murderous glare and raised his eyebrows mockingly.

"Well? Lead the way, jackass."

Nazi's mouth didn't so much as twitch. He turned calmly on his heels and started back the way he'd come. Dean felt something poke his ribs and he grudgingly followed the man, keeping Sam in his peripheral vision.

Nazi escorted them to a dank little building. Angry graffiti was scrawled in wild, distorted patterns across the concrete walls. Broken bottles and cans lay strewn all over the steps leading to the door and the walkway below.

Someone inside was banging on drums and a disjointed melody drifted between the cracks in the door to greet them. Nazi pushed the door open while Pug shoved the shotgun in their ribs, navigating them inside. A suffocating cloud of body odor, nauseous perfume, and thick smoke instantly assaulted their noses and eyes.

They were standing in a large room, completely bare of windows and a lone ceiling fan milling too slowly to do any good - except to coax one wisp of smoke from one side of the room to the other. Near the door a long banister curled around the cracked ceiling, presumably leading to a second floor.

Bodies in various states of revelry jostled about the room. Passed out on cushions, groping each other, or swaying and jumping in a frenzied rhythm with the music. The air was heavy, difficult to breathe and Sam's body was already drenched in sweat. He reached instinctively for Dean's jacket.

Just as Nazi was jamming the door shut a threesome of giggling girls – couldn't be a day over twenty - skipped out of the tangle of bodies and pushed their way toward the newcomers. The leader, a wiry blonde whose bony hips were draped with a filthy, bedazzled mini skirt, swiped underneath her eyes at running mascara before throwing her arms around Sam's neck and locking her lips with his. It all happened so fast he didn't have time to react. Her stale breath stunk of cigarettes and alcohol and _something dead_. She pulled away and giggled, a pitchy, jarring noise that didn't sound quite sane. Sam suppressed the urge to gag and quickly scrubbed his sleeve across his mouth.

"Oh my God, they're _so_ cute," she shrieked at Nazi, still clutching to Sam. "Where in the hell did you find them?"

"Milling around 'bout half a block over. Looked bored so I offered them an invitation." He tossed a triumphant smile in Dean's direction.

Blondie had stopped listening. She was twisting Sam's hair around her fingers and dragging him over to a pile of cushions, giggling hysterically. She reeked of perfume like she was bathing in the stuff to compensate for the shower she probably hadn't had in who knew how long. Of course, Sam wasn't fooling himself. He probably smelled a hundred times worse. Pond gunk still clung to his clothes and mud was drying on his skin. Blondie was either too out of it to notice, or she didn't care.

Another of the threesome, a squat little redhead with a glittery tank top hanging off her enormous breasts, and a lopsided bow jammed on top of her head, had caught hold of Dean. She pushed him playfully toward a group of people grinding on each other in time with the beat of the drums. More bodies pushed between them and Sam lost his hold on his brother.

There was no distinguishable order to the proceedings - people flung each other this way and that, over in the corner a couple was screaming and a woman whooped as she slid down the banister and crashed into a littered pile of cans. Over in a corner someone was being sick on one of the cushions while an onlooker cackled like it was the funniest goddamn thing he'd ever seen.

Sam was hopelessly disoriented by the time Blondie finished fluffing a bright green cushion and gestured for him to sit. When he started to protest she swung her legs around his waist and gave him a forceful shove. His ass landed in the cushion and she promptly collapsed into his lap. She snatched a smudged glass from a passing tray and downed half of the brown liquid in one gulp before coaxing the glass to his lips.

He couldn't remember ever having felt so uncomfortable. Dean was caught in a tangle of dancing bodies writhing to no particular rhythm. He was swinging his head around desperately trying to locate Sam. His face had grown even paler and stood out in stark contrast against the dizzying array of colors. Sam tentatively pushed away the offered glass.

"Uh, no thanks. I'm just gonna find my friend."

Blondie puckered her lips and bunched them into a pout. "Oh, well now you've hurt my _fee-wings_," she whined. "You don't want me to be sad do you?" She suddenly swooped forward and stuck her tongue in his ear. Sam cringed and wriggled free from underneath her. He jumped to his feet and backed away as she playfully crawled after him.

"Yeah, not thirsty, sweetheart."

"Aww," she slurred at his back. "You're no fun! You should try it. It'll make you fun!"

Ignoring the hands pawing clumsily at his ankles, he dodged past groups of revelers and tore his neck free from several pairs of arms before finally reaching Dean who couldn't seem to untangle himself from the fray of dancers. Sam caught his brother's arm and dragged him out of the circle.

"We gotta get out of here," He leaned down to talk into Dean's ear.

"You think, genius?!"

Sam felt dirty - in every sense of the word. Dean was just pissed. They both stared through the fog of smoke and noticed two other men had joined Nazi and Pug with weapons and trained eyes on both of them.

"How we gonna get past Hitler and his henchmen?" Dean's breath was coming in labored gulps and Sam noticed the open wound on his forehead looked raw and angry.

Before Sam could come up with an answer, the men had jostled through the crowd and were violently shoving them apart. Nazi strode up casually and placed his slender fingers on each of their shoulders.

"Let's the three of us go and have a chat." He jerked his head and the brothers found themselves being shoved forward.

They were tossed into a small, airless room with two chairs sitting conveniently in the center. One of the men closed the door, which really didn't do a whole lot to muffle the craziness outside. Nazi nodded his head and in a few rough movements, their hands were tied behind their backs and their feet fastened to the legs of the chairs with thick lengths of rope.

"Alright," Nazi paced slowly back and forth, hands clasped loosely behind his back. "Straight? I know who you are. You're quite a valuable pair."

Dean shot a confused look at his brother. His anger flared and he leaned as far forward as his bonds would allow.

"Yeah," he taunted. _Because what the hell else was he going to do?_ "And who's that, exactly?"

Nazi stopped in his tracks and leaned down to gaze into Dean's eyes, their noses almost touching.

"Let's not beat around the bush, it's unproductive," Nazi _tsked_. "You are going to get me what I want. People seem particularly desperate to get their hands on you two." He turned his head and smiled, his eyes had gone pitch black. "Especially you, Sam."

Sam felt his gut clench and Dean tugged viciously at his bonds.

"You son of a bitch!" he snarled before noticing the eyes of the other men had turned the color of coal as well. Nazi continued calmly, "I know someone who will be very...yes, I think very grateful I've found you."

"So," he clapped his hands together with a satisfied sigh. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to sit here like good little puppies until I come back to fetch you. Understood? Excellent." And with that, he nodded at Pug and strode out of the room.

The stocky demon grinned wickedly before pulling out two syringes filled with a thick, brownish liquid. It looked suspiciously like the stuff the partiers had been downing in their dingy glasses. Sam could do nothing but watch as Dean struggled against the ties before the demon sank the needle into his arm. Almost instantly, Dean's head lolled and Sam heard a few soft pants before his chin dropped to his chest.

"Dean!" He couldn't help shouting.

But _no time_, because then it was his turn. The demon turned gleeful, black eyes on his next victim as Sam struggled in vain with the ropes. Suddenly, he felt a prick in his arm and a warm, stinging sensation flooded his veins. He felt the liquid working its way through his body and closed his eyes as everything began swirling around his head. _Heavy but…have to…have to stay awake. So…tired. Dizzy…ah, fuck. _

His ears vaguely registered distant snorts of laughter as blurry explosions of color collided and sent his head rolling off his neck and his vision tunneling into darkness.

* * *

**Alrighty guys, click that button and let me know how it's going! Next update in a day or so :) Thanks for reading! **

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	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys! Apologies for the delayed update, but work and life and whatnot happened...Anyhoo, here's the next chapter and I'm sorry it's a little short but I'll have something longer to post by tomorrow *claps hands in anticipation***

**As always, thanks to all y'all for your continued comments/interest in this piece! They totally make my day! Don't stop :D **

**Disclaimer: Boys aren't mine, blah blah blah...**

**Okay, enjoy! **

* * *

_But no time, because then it was his turn. The demon turned gleeful, black eyes on his next victim as Sam struggled in vain with the ropes. Suddenly, he felt a prick in his arm and a warm, stinging sensation flooded his veins. He felt the liquid working its way through his body and closed his eyes as everything began swirling around his head. Heavy but…have to…have to stay awake. So…tired. Dizzy…ah, fuck._

_His ears vaguely registered distant snorts of laughter as blurry explosions of color collided and sent his head rolling off his neck and his vision tunneling into darkness._

* * *

_So easy…_

_It slid down so easily. The salty, familiar tang. Thick as honey. Slithering over his tongue in warm swallows down his throat. That tingling rush of pleasure pulsing through his veins was enough to drive him insane. His body was craving, aching, screaming…hungry for it. Closing his eyes, he swallowed another mouthful and felt his stomach muscles clenching as the orgasmic spasms intensified. He couldn't stop the moan of pleasure that broke from his lips. The electrifying surge of power and invigorating knowledge of control throbbing in his blood, straight to his head – He was so dizzy…and damn, it felt good. _

_Never had he given himself over so completely – allowed total abandonment to it. Always that small voice holding him back, telling him it was filthy and sick and wrong. But now... Now the crippling currents of ecstasy rushing over his body left him breathless, struggling to remain conscious. He kept thinking there had to be a climax for all of this. It hurt - it hurt so fucking much…a wonderful, terrible agony. And suddenly, he couldn't bear it another second. _

_He licked salty beads of sweat from his upper lip as he pulled away from the invisible source, his muscles quivering…protesting. He drew a panting breath and exhaled – deep and slow, soothing his overwrought senses. _

_He opened his eyes, gasping when he realized he was holding his brother's body in his arms. Dean's lifeless green eyes gazed back at him, sad and beseeching. The hurt and betrayal etched in his older brother's sunken, gray features shook him to his core – even in death, there was no escape. The bloodless lips seemingly trying to form a question as if they didn't understand that they had been forever sealed._

_He cried out in despair…calling, wailing for his brother, but there was nothing. Nothing left. _

_Empty. _

_Why, Sam? _

_At first, it was his brother's voice he heard echoing in his ears, and suddenly it wasn't...another took his place. Sweet and seductive, it slithered around the black corners of his mind, whispering every terrible truth he'd told himself was a lie. The blood swam, like a living thing, boiling in his stomach – devouring his mind like a disease. _

_You know why, Sam. You've always known why. _

_It had to be you._

_Dean knew – deep down. He was willingly blind…believed he could save you. He was only lying to himself. No one can save you, Sam. _

_Monster…_

_But why would you want to be saved? You're better than that. Better than this - this tragic existence. Aren't you tired of fighting, Sam? Tired of losing?_

_You can still save him. It doesn't have to end like this. _

_Do something right for once in your miserable life. Embrace who you were meant to be. Do the right thing… _

_Say yes. _

_It'll be easy after that, Sam. So very easy._

_And it would be…_

_So fucking easy._

_The velvety voice blurred in a resounding echo of thunder. And then another, louder this time, more urgent. Suddenly, his ears were exploding. _

_Gun shots?_

_Something he should be doing? Why couldn't he open his eyes?_

_Women screaming, men barking orders, shouting frantically to each other…all humming behind a thick, swimming fog he couldn't seem to find his way out of. God, his head…_

_Somewhere, somewhere close, a distant crash, and he vaguely registered a stinging sensation against his cheek. The thundering booms had dwindled to the occasional pop in the background. _

_Footsteps. Dammit! Why weren't his eyes working?_

"Hey, better get in here." A rough, sandpapery voice crackled through his consciousness. "You should probably see this."

The guy sounded…what? Surprised? Confused? Angry? Sam decided on a mix of all three.

Another pair of boots scuffed on the floor as they came to an abrupt stop.

"Wh-what the hell?" A second voice stammered. Younger…sounded frightened.

"Not a damn clue," He heard the older man grunt a frustrated sigh.

"What'll we do?"

There was an uncomfortable beat of silence as the two men stood, presumably staring.

_Dean. Where's Dean? _

Sam knew he should probably start panicking right about now. He was no longer blanketed in darkness, but the images swaying before his eyes were a fuzzy collage of grays and browns – if he tried to focus on anything for too long it all faded to black again. And his head – it felt like someone had dumped a gallon of water inside his skull and it was all he could do to prevent it from toppling right off his shoulders as the waves sloshed back and forth. Made it hard to think straight.

A third pair of boots approached, slower…less agitated than the first two.

"Bob, what'd'ya think?" That would be the first Stooge. Sam heard the clink of metal as the man adjusted his weapon.

A sharp intake of breath as the third man entered the doorway. More aggravating silence.

"Well," the husky voice demanded. "What the fuck you wanna do with 'em?"

Heavy breaths as the third man slowly approached and Sam saw a hazy blur of gray swim in his line of sight.

The first man had grown increasingly agitated, nervous - as if he'd rather be anywhere but in that room.

"I say kill 'em. No use takin' chances," he said.

"No!" The third voice barked harshly. It was familiar. He knew that voice. Gruff and ornery and...

"We take 'em with us. Now quit yer yappin' and help me. Need to start back before dark."

_Holy shit…Bobby? No, this couldn't be happening. Not for real. When did they ever catch this kind of a break? Never – that's when. _

Sam tried to speak, tried to move, tried to do _something. _But the words stuck in his throat and all he could manage was a pathetic groan as his leaden head dropped once more to his chest_. _

"But-" the youngest voice suddenly sprang to life. "…what's _he_ going to say?"

The cautious injection of that '_he' _wasn't too inspiring.

"You let me worry about him. Just do what I tell ya."

Sam heard a frenzied shuffle of boots as the other two hurried to obey.

"Jesus," Sam could almost picture the grimace on the man's face. "This ones a wreck. And that one smells like…dammit, he's wakin' up."

Sam's heavy eyelids still refused to cooperate, but he heard a painful groan from somewhere close beside him.

_Dean. _

_Dammit, if they hurt Dean…_

Sam felt something jerking on his wrists and suddenly they swung free as his body lurched forward. He had no control. The sickening sensation of free-fall came to an abrupt halt as stocky arms braced against his chest and broke his descent.

"Christ, this one weighs a ton-"

"Careful with him!" He heard…_not Bobby's_ voice cut through the haze. "We just gotta get 'em to the truck."

He was hauled roughly to his feet and he felt an arm snake underneath his shoulders. His legs were jello and promptly collapsed beneath him. He heard his designated human crutch straining and grunting in frustration.

"Les, get your lazy ass over here and help me with him!"

"We're gonna have to take 'em one at a time," the sandpapery voice piped up. "Let's move gigantor first." Panic flooded Sam's chest at the prospect of leaving Dean behind. He tried once more in vain to force his eyes open, to form words. He felt his mouth moving, tongue sticking to the roof like silly putty, but he _was _making sounds. They just didn't sound anything like what he was shouting at the men in his head.

_If you bastards so much as lay a finger on my brother I'll tear your goddamn heads off your necks! Fuck…why can't I see anything?_

"Hey," that familiar voice again, accompanied by a firm palm against his heaving chest. Strangely comforting, but not so much that Sam gave up his struggle. "Just take it easy, son. We're gettin' you outta here."

Another noise choked its way up his parched throat, "Nuuh…D-De-…"

"I know, boy," the voice reassured softly. "I know, we're gettin' him too, don't you worry."

"I'll stay here," the man volunteered. "Keep this 'un company 'til you two get back."

A strange twinge of fond amusement broke through the exhaustion in the man's voice, "And don't let him take you down even if he tries. He's a stubborn one."

Sam barely heard the last bit as he was hauled forward and his arms jerked in their sockets. The sudden movement sent his head tail spinning in twenty-five directions and his vision hurtled into pitch black.

* * *

Bobby knelt and took a long, hard look at the unconscious young man. His instincts spiked with a hundred possibilities - none of them good.

He noticed the ashen pallor of Dean's busted face, the glistening sheen of sweat coating his skin, and the labored wheeze of breath rattling in his lungs.

"What the hell, kid?"

When he'd walked in and seen those two, all tied up like they were gift-wrapped for someone, Bobby could've sworn his heart stopped beating.

_Because, it couldn't be. Both his boys alive and together. Had to be some kind of screwed up trick. It was impossible. Wasn't it? Aw, hell…_

Dean groaned again and fussed against Bobby's restraining grip. When he started choking, the older man gently leaned Dean's head over his arm.

Les and Victor came stomping back in just as Dean started retching, both retracing a step or two in obvious disgust.

"The hell's wrong with him?" Victor always had been a squeamish son of a bitch.

"Prob'ly just the drugs wearin' off," Bobby replied as he readjusted his grip on Dean's bicep. "Same crap those bastards outside were chuggin'…place is swimming in the stuff."

Dean gagged and spat reflexively as stringy saliva clung to his lips. No relief for his efforts. He was still unconscious but that didn't stop Bobby from trying to soothe the boy's misery.

"S'alright, kid. Just get it out." He administered a firm pat on Dean's back and that seemed to do the trick. Bobby braced the overly warm head as Dean vomited the meager contents of his stomach.

"That's it," Bobby encouraged as Dean finished heaving and his body went limp again.

"Okay, let's get you outta this damn Croat-hole."

Dean stirred and tried to lift his head as Bobby enlisted the help of the other two men to carry him to the truck waiting just outside in a marginally concealed alley.

"…S'mmy," Dean slurred, sounding as though he was talking around a mouthful of molasses. "Wh's 'mmy?"

Bobby gripped Dean a little tighter around his waist, "He's fine, kid. Just take it easy. You'll see him in no time."

The lingering doubt in the back of Bobby's mind was dwindling. It never ceased to amaze him, no matter how screwed in the head or how much pain they were in, the brother's first coherent thoughts had always been of each other. Both wondering where the other was or if their brother was all right, and threatening anyone who dared keep them apart. Even when things had gotten rough between them Bobby never had a trace of doubt they would always choose… he blocked out that last thought and felt his throat tighten as memories flooded, unbidden to the surface. With a determined swallow, he shoved them back down in the past where they belonged.

Those days were long dead and Bobby needed to keep his head straight. Figure out what exactly was happening and why he suddenly had folks running around wearing other folk's faces.

* * *

He still felt sick to his stomach but the exertion had helped clear some of the haze. He was kind of tired of being dragged all over this stupid city and dumped places like a friggin' bag of garbage.

_And where the hell had they taken Sam?_

He raised his twelve-ton head full of bricks, establishing a vague sense of direction, and tried his best to lift his feet as pairs of arms hauled him into the back of a truck.

He could've cried with relief when he saw Sam balanced against the window on the opposite side, his tangled limbs askew and head lolling awkwardly against his chest.

"S'mmy?" _Why was it so hard to talk?_

Sam lifted his head in response to his brother's voice and his glazed eyes slid open.

"D'n?" Sam was feebly pushing himself upright and reaching blindly for his brother even as strange hands settled Dean against his own window.

Sam weakly shoved the hands aside and his own fingers tangled in the tattered remains of Dean's jacket – he gripped the fabric as though it were his only anchor to reality. Dean clumsily patted his little brother's hand.

"K-?" Sam eventually slurred.

"Mm…" Dean could only blink at his brother in response. He just wanted to sleep. But every time he closed his eyes the throbbing burn would flare in his shoulder and he'd have to rub at it, otherwise it wouldn't stop…_wouldn't stop. _

Sam was trying so hard to stay awake. His head gradually navigating down to his chest and at the last second, snapping back to attention. Dean felt his mouth twitch in spite of the pain. Vaguely, he heard the engine roar to life and felt the roll of the truck as they bounced forward over the treacherous expanse of road. He reached over and gave Sammy's chest another reassuring pat.

Almost immediately, the iron vice gripping his jacket relaxed and Sam's eyes slowly drooped. This time, they didn't jerk back open. Dean smiled to himself and mentally rolled his eyes as a huge, warm body slid down the seat and a shaggy head came to rest against his shoulder. It hurt, but he wasn't about to push his unconscious brother away. He felt a familiar pang of guilt.

_That'd happened too many times…_

He felt a wave of confusion as his own heavy eyes slid closed, and wondered how out of it he really was.

Because the man sitting behind the wheel looked an awful lot like…he could've sworn it was…_No. Wasn't possible. Come on, Dean – get a grip._

* * *

**Alrighty, so what'd you think? Click that button and let me know ;) Thanks for reading and stay posted for tomorrow - t'will be fun :D **_  
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	5. Chapter 5

**So, hurrah for the next bit! We're winding up for the grand finale in a couple of chapters here, folks. Thanks to everybody for reading and reviewing *hugs and kisses all round* Enjoy this next installment!**

**Disclaimer: Yep, the characters remain at large. **

**Okay, go read :) **

* * *

_Vaguely, he heard the engine roar to life and felt the roll of the truck as they bounced forward over the treacherous expanse of road. He reached over and gave Sammy's chest another reassuring pat._

_Almost immediately, the iron vice gripping his jacket relaxed and Sam's eyes slowly drooped. This time, they didn't jerk back open. Dean smiled to himself and mentally rolled his eyes as a huge, warm body slid down the seat and a shaggy head came to rest against his shoulder. It hurt, but he wasn't about to push his unconscious brother away. He felt a familiar pang of guilt._

_That'd happened too many times…_

_He felt a wave of confusion as his own heavy eyes slid closed, and wondered how out of it he really was._

_Because the man sitting behind the wheel looked an awful lot like…he could've sworn it was…No. Wasn't possible. Come on, Dean – get a grip._

* * *

His muscles tensed as he jolted awake, erratic breaths making him lightheaded. But he instantly relaxed when a familiar pair of green eyes swam into view, looking down at him.

_Dean._

But his brother's forehead was furrowed in anger, confusion clouding his eyes.

_Why was he angry?_

Sam fixed a questioning gaze on his brother and lifted a shaky hand to rest on Dean's shoulder. Instantly, as if reacting to a snakebite, Dean jumped back and stood over Sam - his looming presence practically vibrating with menacing tension. Sam was growing increasingly anxious.

"D'n? Waa's wrong?" His voice was still uncomfortably thick and slow. With only a little difficulty, he managed to hoist himself up on an elbow. "Wha' th' hell's goin' on?"

Dean seemed to startle at the sound of his voice, and for a moment, Sam could've sworn his brother looked like he was going to cry. The fleeting second passed however and suddenly there was nothing but the cold, distrusting gaze coolly giving him a once over.

"I should be the one asking that question, don't you think?"

His brother's voice…but yet, somehow different. Colder. Harder. Barely a trace of the man Sam had trusted since childhood, who had always made him feel absolutely safe. This…this couldn't be his brother. Something was seriously fucked up.

And then, as if he wasn't sufficiently bewildered, Bobby's face appeared beside _not Dean's_, the wrinkled skin around his eyes pinched with concern.

"Wh-" Sam stuttered and forced his voice to the surface. "Where's Dean? What'd you do to him? Where's my brother?" Sam struggled up, swinging his uncooperative legs over the side of a squeaking cot.

The guy playing Bobby held up his hands defensively, while the bastard wearing his brother's face glared silently from the corner.

"Boy, just take it easy. Calm down."

But Sam was beyond pissed at this point, and more than that, he was frightened for his brother.

"Dean!" he hollered, eyes roaming the room, searching desperately for anything that might give him a clue.

"Sam?" Dean's voice…his _brother's_ voice answered weakly from somewhere in the distance, somewhere he couldn't see. "Sammy? You there?"

"Yeah, Dean, m'here!" Sam pushed to his feet, but found himself instantly restrained by two other men who seemed to have magically emerged from the shadows to his right and left. They caught his biceps and shoved him back onto the cot as they handcuffed his right wrist to the metal post.

"You just sit your ass back down. You're not going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck's going on and who you guys are."

"Dean," Bobby whispered as he placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Take it easy on him, he's obviously as confused as we are."

"_Or_ he's faking it and I oughta gank both their asses right here and now."

"Simmer down ya idjit," Bobby huffed. "Nobodies gankin' anybody. You ran the drill - they're definitely human. Everybody just needs to calm the hell down until we figure this thing out."

"What the hell's happening," Sam breathed to himself, eyes wide as he watched the exchange between the two men.

"You let me see my brother," his voice was stronger, angrier. "I wanna see Dean."

Dean's angry twin twitched at that last demand. Wincing as though he'd just been electrocuted or something. He turned to the older man, his steely eyes dissolving into panic.

"Bobby, this can't be right," he growled. "I mean, what the hell?" His nostrils flared and he turned to face Sam, fists clenching threateningly at his sides. "He _can't _be here. And then there's my friggin' clone we gotta deal with."

Bobby kept a firm hand on the younger man's arm, "Well obviously he _is _here, somehow or other, and if you'd quit bellyachin' long enough to hear them out maybe we could all find some answers."

Dean fumed but his fists unclenched a hair. His voice was controlled and dangerous when he finally ordered, "Go get him."

The two men hurried to obey and Sam was left alone with these bizarro versions of his older brother and his surrogate father staring down at him. They were back within moments, dragging his brother between them. Dean looked sweaty and ill and Sam's worry ratcheted up a notch or ten. Dean struggled from his escort's grasp when he spotted his little brother and ignored everyone else as he lurched towards Sam.

"Sammy? You okay?" He collapsed on the cot as Sam gently helped lever him down.

"Yeah, yeah I'm alright. But Dean-"

"S'okay," his brother insisted as if he knew what Sam was about to say. "Just the drugs. I'll be fine."

Dean finally tore his eyes away from his brother long enough to take in his surroundings, his gaze lingering on the four men standing in front of them, one in particular holding his attention.

"Son of a bitch," he whispered. "Sam, what the hell is this?"

"Damned if I know," Sam muttered. "I woke up and your evil twin and his crazy uncle were hogtying me to a bedpost."

"Out. Now." That would be said twin ordering his lackeys outside as he uncrossed his arms and took a step forward. The other two men quickly exited, shutting the door behind them, and then it was just Sam with _two_ royally pissed off big brothers, and Bobby who looked about as disoriented as Sam felt.

"Okay," Bobby sighed. "Let's all just keep our heads glued to our necks. How about you two start."

"How about you tell me why this son of a bitch is wearing my face," Dean blustered.

Twin took another step forward before drawing the gun hiding in the back of his jeans. "How about you shut your damn mouth and show a little respect to the people holding the lead, jackass."

Dean began struggling to his feet but Sam held him back. It was easier than it should've been.

"That's enough," Bobby stepped between the two of them.

"Look," Sam volunteered. "We both woke up in this hell-hole a few days ago. No idea how we got here or who did it." He paused as something occurred to him. "What's the date?"

"It's the 21st," Bobby replied.

"Yeah okay, but what's the year?"

"2014."

Sam took a moment to process the older man's response. "Okay, so somehow we were zapped from the year 2009 and stuck here. And what the hell's going on, anyway?" He looked expectantly at Bobby. "Why's everybody gone nuts?"

"Croatoan virus." Twin spoke up. "We're just biding our time."

"So wait a minute," Dean waved his hand. "Basically, you're telling us that you guys are future versions of…me and Bobby," his lips puckered with distrust. "And everybody in this shitty version of _Back to the Future_ is running around with a demonic virus, is that it?"

"That's about the gist," Bobby answered. He opened his mouth as if there was something else he wanted to say, but a quick glance at the younger man standing beside him and he immediately shut it. Twin kept his eyes fixed firmly on the two men seated on the cot.

"Now it's your turn." Twin pointed to the man sitting beside Sam.

"What do you mean?" Dean glared up at…apparently, _himself_ in confusion.

"You'll excuse me if I don't feel like breaking out the family reunion banners just yet. So you're not shifters or demons – doesn't mean I trust you." He planted a fixed gaze on the man sitting before him. "If you're me, tell me something only _I_ would know," he challenged.

"Dean, is this really necessary?" Bobby huffed at the younger man.

"It is if these jokers want to keep puffing air."

Bobby sighed but didn't say anything else.

"Well?" Twin raised his eyebrows in condescending expectation.

"Fine," Dean resigned himself and thought for a moment before quirking a self-satisfied smile. "Rhonda Hurley. We were…nineteen. She made us try on her panties. They were _pink_ and _satiny_…and you know what?" Dean waved a finger between the both of them. "We kinda liked it."

Sam stared at his brother with an undisguised look of abject horror on his face. While the elder Dean's ears flushed red and he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Alright," he grunted. "I'm probably gonna regret this but you-" he pointed at Sam. "Same thing. Something only my little brother would know."

Sam gulped and looked between the _two _Deans before speaking. "Um…I was fourteen. There was this formal thing at school and I was nervous because I'd asked this girl to go with me, but I didn't know how to dance. You spent four hours teaching me how to two-step and swore if I ever told anyone you'd shove your boot so far up my ass I'd be limping for a week. Exact words if I recall."

His brother snorted at the memory while Twin's face went from flushed to paper white in a matter of seconds.

He opened his mouth and for a fleeting moment, appeared to be painfully conflicted as his lips silently formed Sam's name.

Bobby glanced from one to the other and finally broke the heavy silence with a pat on the younger man's shoulder.

"Well aren't you just the biggest damn teddy bear I ever saw," he chuckled quietly.

Both Deans shot the older man an identical look of indignation. "Shut up, Bobby!" the two of them shouted in unison.

Sam huffed an awkward laugh and shook his head in bewilderment. "This is just…I…I don't know what to think."

"Hold on a second," Dean shifted his position on the cot and glanced up at the two men. "If you two are both here, where's Sam? Like, you know, future him."

There was a beat of silence before his older self responded quietly, "Dead."

His little brother audibly swallowed and an icy rush of fear prickled over Dean's skin as the revelation sunk in. _Sam was dead. How could that have happened? How could he have _let _that happen? Unless…_

As their questioning glances lingered, Dean's older self sighed in irritation before rattling off what felt like a tired explanation of the events. Something he had drilled into his mind as cold, hard fact and rehearsed until he'd weeded out every gut-wrenching emotion attached with it.

"Big blow-out in Detroit," he began, his voice flat and controlled. "Sam wasn't giving in. Remember Adam? Well the angels brought him back and he said yes."

"Yes?" Dean interrupted even as he swallowed against the bile swimming up his throat.

"To Lucifer." Since he began speaking the elder man had remained eerily calm. Not the slightest hint of emotion broke through the placid expression. "Sam became irrelevant to them. When he died, it was for good. I had a job to do." Finally, a dark scowl slithered across his lips as his fists clenched. "And I intend to finish it."

"And what's that?" Dean inquired quietly of his older self, even as a terrible sense of dread clutched at his chest.

"Killing the Devil." The voice was ice. "We've been searching for the Colt, almost five years. We're close. And He knows it. Been relocating our base for about a year now, trying to stay below the radar. But he's easy to find, doesn't even try to be subtle. No reason to with demonic Croats rampaging all over the damn place."

Dean considered the information. Of course it's what he would do. But…_Sam. _He didn't know how he could've ever gone on without his brother. Sure, he'd been angry and confused and hurt – still was. But this was Sammy. The kid he'd been taking care of his whole life and to just…move on like that. It felt so wrong. It went against every natural, protective instinct he possessed. He pushed the dark thoughts away and cleared his throat, trying to focus on the here and now. "How many people you got?"

Bobby dropped his head, his response was muffled. "Eight others right now. They come and go." The statement was casually resigned.

"Listen," elder Dean spoke again. "You two stay put. Least for a while. I got twitchy trauma victims hiding out down here and I don't need people wigging 'cause my friggin' clone decided to make a cameo."

"Hey pal," Dean frowned. "I'm not exactly itching to trade friendship bracelets. Didn't ask to be dropped here. Hell, we just wanna get back to our own damn year."

The elder man ignored him and continued as though he hadn't been interrupted. "We'll bring you some clothes, get you cleaned up." He handed a key to Bobby. "Uncuff him," he gestured to Sam. "Just don't go getting any bright ideas, got me?" And with that, he strode briskly out of the room.

"Dick," Dean mumbled under his breath.

Bobby slowly shuffled over to the two boys on the bed. He unlocked Sam's handcuffs and Sam rubbed his wrists absently. The next thing he knew, the older man was flinging his arms around Sam's shoulders and crushing the air from his lungs in a desperate hug. Startled, Sam sat awkwardly for a moment before tentatively patting Bobby's back in return.

"S'good to see you again, boy," Bobby huffed gruffly into his neck before finally releasing him. Sam nodded a small smile. Bobby blinked away the moisture from his eyes before turning to Dean.

"And Dean, I'm sorry you have to see things like this. Sorry for both of you. Times ain't what they used to be." Landing a final affectionate pat on both their shoulders, Bobby rose to leave.

The moment he was gone, Dean collapsed against the bed with a stifled groan. A cold sweat had broken out over his flushed face and he couldn't seem to catch his breath.

"Heyheyhey," Sam was immediately pulling him up by the shoulders, bracing his lolling neck. "Dean, what is it? What's wrong?" Dean flinched away from Sam's grip on his shoulder.

"S'nothing, I'm fine," he panted.

"Bullshit you're fine. Dean, what the hell is-" Sam's words stuck in his throat as he pulled away the worn layers of clothing to reveal an inflamed, oozing bite mark decorating Dean's flesh just above his collarbone. Dean tried to swat him away and weakly tugged his shirt back over the angry wound.

"Oh God," Sam breathed. "Dean…" He felt his brain shutting down, refusing to believe what he'd just seen. _Nononono…this wasn't happening. _

"S'okay, Sammy." Dean braced his elbow and with a pained grunt, pushed himself back up. He placed unsteady hands on his knees and waited for the room to stop spinning before looking sideways at his brother.

"Dean," Sam's voice shook in spite of his efforts to remain calm. "That is anything but okay, man." He looked down at the floor, not trusting himself to meet his brother's eyes. "How long?"

Dean rubbed his palms against the rough fabric of his jeans.

"Dean? How long?" Sam repeated.

"Since we were jumped by those bastards at the pond."

"Shit," Sam felt as if the walls were suddenly closing in. "We have to get you help. There has to be-"

"Sam, no," Dean turned towards his brother and glared. "You can't tell any of them about this, okay? No one. I'll take care of it… nothing to get worked up about. Just didn't get it cleaned out in time and now its infected – that's all. We'll just snag some antibiotics from these yahoos and I'll be right as rain in no time."

"Dean…" Sam felt himself choking up. Felt the burn behind his eyes and wished for the thousandth time that this was all just a horrible nightmare - and maybe he would finally wake up.

"Sam," Dean gazed imploringly at his brother. Silently begging him not to push this. "How 'bout you go grab that shower. You reek, little brother."

* * *

Two hours later they were clean, clothed, fed, and mercifully settled in for the night. They had basically been left to their own devices in the sanctuary of a solitary bunk room attached to a miniscule shower that Sam literally had to duck his head, and squeeze his shoulders to fit inside.

Only Bobby had popped in a few times to make sure they had everything they needed. And every time he did, Sam couldn't help feeling uncomfortable. With everything they had learned, it was awkward being in the same room with someone who had seen him die almost five years ago. Sam was grateful that Bobby, for the most part, ignored his anxious fidgeting.

Dean had been quiet all evening. Though his color had improved a little with the shower, the food, and Sam's careful ministrations with a requested med-kit, he still wasn't himself. About an hour after they'd gone to bed, Dean began moaning and fussing in his sleep. His fever had spiked and the wound was bleeding through the patchwork gauze.

"Okay, that's it," Sam muttered. "I'll be back, Dean." He carefully adjusted the blankets his unconscious brother had kicked off and quietly tiptoed out of the room into the darkness.

A few yards away sat a small cabin. No light, no sound, and Sam prayed everyone had gone to bed. They had to have antibiotics stashed away somewhere. The stupid Advil tablets obviously weren't doing jack shit for his brother.

Sam stealthily picked his way to the door, out of sight of two patrols, and was relieved to find it unlocked. He carefully cracked it open and took a quick look around. The room was almost completely dark, save a little moonlight blinking through the smudged crack of a window. He began rummaging through the numerous drawers and cabinets until he stumbled upon the inevitably meager stock of medical supplies. Other items stowed away in boxes or sitting on shelves barely caught his attention. He found what he was searching for in the form of an orange, half-full container. He pocketed the drugs and quickly made his way towards the door.

The click of a gun had Sam spinning on his heels, throwing up his hands in self-defense.

"The hell are you doin' here?" A slurred voice wound it's way through the darkness.

"I-uh…" Before Sam could stutter out an answer, a small lantern flicked on. Dean's face stared morosely up at him. A bottle of whiskey, nearly down to the dregs sat idly on a small wooden table. He reached casually over and lazily swirled the last bit of liquid in the bottom of the bottle.

"Dean?" Sam couldn't help but stare at the man slumped over the table in the corner. The defeated hunch of his shoulders, the weary lines etched around his sullen mouth, his tired, listless eyes, – how could they be so empty and yet so full of darkness... He might as well have been staring at a stranger.

"Dean, I was just-"

"No," he snarled. "You don't…you don't get to do that," his voice was cold as ice and his hand trembled slightly as he brought the bottle to his lips. "I haven't been that _Dean_ since…just since."

Sam was at a loss. On one hand, this older version of his brother scared the crap out of him. And on the other, he couldn't help but feel angry…angry at himself for having left his brother, for having failed Dean _again_. And this was all that was left – Dean had been carved out and hollowed..._nothing left_. The only reason to keep breathing, the only thing driving this man forward was the promise of revenge. Whatever screwed up shit was happening right now, wherever they might end up, this man was still his brother – more or less – and it hurt Sam deeply to see what Dean had become in his absence.

"Dean-" Sam whispered again without thinking. The older man snorted in response - a miserable, drunken laugh. Sam felt gooseflesh prickle over his skin.

"You always were a stubborn little shit, Sam." Dean took another swallow and stared at the empty bottle. "Since you were old enough to walk and learned how to say 'no'. Had a hell of a time keeping you where you were supposed to be," he smiled again. "Didn't get any easier as you got older."

Sam felt his chest tighten and a ferocious ache bloomed in the pit of his stomach when it suddenly occurred to him how many nights this man must've spent in a drunken stupor, all alone – talking to a ghost.

"And then one day," Sam heard angry tears muddling the gruff voice. "-you weren't there anymore. You were somewhere you weren't supposed to be, except this time I couldn't follow you. Tore me apart, but I couldn't. I had a job to do, Sammy…" His voice choked on the nickname as if the very mention of it gutted him from the inside out and suddenly Sam couldn't bear this anymore.

"I'm sorry," And there wasn't anything else he could say. He didn't know how to make this better.

Another watery grin, "You're always sorry, little brother." Dean leaned forward, his head sinking so low it was almost resting on the table – the pistol lay discarded in his lap. "Just you do something for me, m'kay?"

"What?" Sam barely heard his own voice.

"Don't leave him. You two still have a goddamn chance." Dean's lips curled into a bitter smile. "And if you have to…make sure he goes with you."

It felt like the air had been snatched from his lungs. He stumbled outside and gulped breath after breath, trying to clear his head, trying to chase away the unbearable pain coiling in his gut. Because this wasn't how it ended. After everything –everything they'd been through, he wouldn't let it end up like this.

Sam retraced his steps to the tiny shack and knelt beside his brother. He dug the pills out of his back pocket and gently shook Dean's shoulder. His brother's body jerked in the throes of sleep and his eyes moved rapidly beneath the lids. The sheets were damp and Sam carefully untangled his brother's arms, smoothing back the blankets.

"Dean," he whispered. "Hey, come on, wake up." Glassy eyes cracked open and rolled around their sockets before vaguely settling on Sam.

"Hey, Dorothy," his brother's voice was dry as dust. "We back in Kansas, yet?"

"Workin' on it," Sam smiled. "Sit up." Dean did his best to comply but Sam still held a palm behind his neck for support, helping him the rest of the way up.

"Here," Sam shook out three of the pills and handed them over along with a bottle of water they'd been given earlier. "Drink," he ordered. Dean obeyed and Sam gently lowered him back down.

He refused to think about the fact that Dean hadn't once threatened to kick his ass for "manhandling" him. Sam swallowed down the fear and carefully replaced the bandage on his brother's shoulder before settling himself beside the bed, his back braced against the wall.

"Sammy?" Dean's breathy, strained voice cut through the heavy silence.

"Mmm."

"You don' let that bastard get to you, hear? S'not gonna happen. Won' let it."

Sam smiled in spite of the hopelessness pervading his thoughts. Because, only Dean….

"Yeah," he whispered as his older brother's breathing evened out in sleep.

"I know."

* * *

**Okay, y'all know what to do :) More to come soon. And if you guys have any ideas for little scenes or something you might like to see played out between this threesome we got going, don't be shy - lemme know and if it fits I'll try to work it in ;) Thanks so much for reading! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Alrighty, enjoy this next bit! As always, thanks to everyone for being their wonderful, interested selves, and encouraging me to keep this up :) **

**Disclaimer: Not my characters, blah blah blah...**

* * *

_He refused to think about the fact that Dean hadn't once threatened to kick his ass for "manhandling" him. Sam swallowed down the fear and carefully replaced the bandage on his brother's shoulder before settling himself beside the bed, his back braced against the wall._

_"Sammy?" Dean's breathy, strained voice cut through the heavy silence._

_"Mmm."_

_"You don' let that bastard get to you, hear? S'not gonna happen. Won' let it."_

_Sam smiled in spite of the hopelessness pervading his thoughts. Because, only Dean…._

_"Yeah," he whispered as his older brother's breathing evened out in sleep._

_"I know."_

* * *

It was warm. Uncomfortably warm. Sweat trickled down the small of his back and his neck was slick with it. But that awful, lingering state between sleep and awareness held him captive in a cocoon of laziness and he didn't want to open his eyes. Not just yet.

Something tickled the tip of his nose and he reached up to itch, trying to dispel the annoying sensation. He was dozing off when it happened again - a quick flutter of softness brushing the inside of his nostrils. He jerked away as a violent sneeze shook him awake. He jumped and his arms flailed and thumped in surprise against the floor when he looked up and saw a familiar face grinning down at him.

"Hello, Sam."

"Cas? Y-you're alive?"

"I'm afraid so," Cas answered. But his voice was mild - he might as well have been reminiscing about what he'd eaten for lunch. "And you are clean," the angel countered. "That's good." He seemed genuinely pleased.

Sam winced. The unexpected observation catching him off guard and leaving him prey to the host of black memories reminding him of everything he was trying so desperately to atone for. And quell. _Always trying to quell it. _

The angel was squatting in front of Sam's sprawled form like it was the most natural position in the world. He held a small, gray feather in his hand and was absently rubbing it against the inside of his palm. Sam reached up to scratch his nose again, reminded suddenly of the irritating, phantom sensation. He had so many questions. But the moment he opened his mouth, Cas reached out and placed a warning finger against Sam's lips, mimicking a _shh_ noise. Sam blinked up at him, too bewildered to do anything but stare.

"Dean is still asleep," Cas explained. He nodded his head sympathetically towards the unconscious man. "We should let him rest. He needs it."

Suddenly, the memories of the previous night slammed into Sam's gut like a high-speed train and that horrible feeling of helpless desperation – of not knowing what to do, of having no control – it needled sickeningly inside his chest.

Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. Why was it so damn hot?

_Dean. He was…No. Just no. _

"Sam?" Cas quirked his head in apparent concern, placing a wary hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Sam vaguely realized he probably sounded like was having an asthma attack and focused on calming his erratic breaths.

"Yeah…yeah, I'm fine. Just…thirsty." He pushed against the creaking floorboards and knelt beside the cot. He placed a hand lightly on Dean's forehead and was relieved to find he was no longer burning with fever. His brother appeared to be resting peacefully, stirring only slightly at Sam's touch. He was calm, and Sam couldn't bring himself to look at the wound just yet. Too early for a meltdown.

Instead, he stood, cracked his aching back, and shuffled over to their meager pile of supplies in search of his drink. He found a water bottle and gestured for the angel to follow him outside.

The hot sun hit his face like a fiery slap and Sam squinted against the scorching rays of light. He unscrewed the cap, tilted his head and drank greedily, gasping a little as he finished off the water. The lukewarm liquid settled like a rock in his stomach and Sam suddenly wished he hadn't gulped it down so fast. He felt Cas watching him and spun around to face the angel.

Cas stood with his arms crossed casually and an odd smirk on his lips. He chuckled and shook his head. "This is a very strange situation," he mused.

"Yeah, tell me about it." Sam ran a hand through his mussed hair, scratching at his scalp and untangling the strands. Suddenly, Sam took an eager step forward as a thought occured. He grabbed a hold of Castiel's shirt and began tugging him back towards the shack.

"Cas!" His voice was loud and urgent with the realization. "You have to help him. You have to help Dean." He felt the relief flooding his system.

"He's…" Sam swallowed. He couldn't bring himself to say it. "He's not good. You saw him, man. He needs help."

"Sam," Cas gently untangled himself from Sam's grasp and sorrowfully met the young man's hopeful gaze. "I can't help your brother."

"What? Why the hell not?" Sam took a threateningly step forward, fists clenching in response to the instinctual surge of protectiveness.

"Because, I'm human." Sam just stared, uncomprehending. "I lost my grace, Sam." Cas shrugged noncommittally, _like it was no fucking big deal._ "Yes, a mortal," he poked a finger against Sam's chest. "Like you…well, sort of."

Sam's nostrils flared, brow furrowing as he fought the urge to wail on something…or someone. Cas didn't seem to notice. He flicked the _goddamn feather_ at a fly buzzing around his head.

"Anyway," he continued. "That's why I can't help Dean. No - how does he call it - mojo? Believe me, I wish I could." He placed a sympathetic hand on Sam's shoulder and the younger man immediately backed away. Cas sighed. "But, things happen. One day…just, _bloop_," he made an exploding gesture with his hands. "Gone. Adios."

Sam suspected there was a little more to the story than a fucking "bloop".

"So I guess that means you can't zap us back, either," his lips pinched in a bitter frown.

Cas actually had the nerve to laugh. A jumpy, unhinged sound that set Sam's teeth on edge. Like fingers scraping against a chalkboard.

"No," he giggled. _Giggled?_ "No I guess not."

"Cas," Sam rubbed his forehead in frustration. "Where's D-…the other Dean, and Bobby?"

"Out."

"Out?" Sam was _this close_ to picking him up and giving him a good shake.

"On a mission," Cas finally clarified. "Always on a mission," he sighed. "He forgot how to enjoy things. Such a long time ago…" Cas was rambling now and Sam was torn between infuriation and fear.

"Oh!" Cas suddenly held up a finger as though he had something very important to say. Somehow, Sam doubted that.

"But," he continued. "I do have something. I think you'll like it." Cas smiled as he withdrew a small object from his pocket.

Sam squinted at the tiny roll of white paper before placing his hands on his hips and shaking his head. "Seriously, man? What the hell happened to you?"

"Life," Cas answered matter-of-factly. "It is, as they say, a bitch. But these make it a little more fun."

Even if he could think of one, there was no need for Sam to bother with a reply as Dean chose that moment to call for his brother.

"Yeah," Sam called back, immediately forgetting the man standing in front of him as he shoved past. "I'm here, I'm coming."

Dean had struggled into a sitting position. He was still pale and his hands trembled slightly, but it was an improvement over the delirium of the previous night. Sam felt his tense shoulders sag with relief.

"Hey, man," Dean's head shot up at the sound of his brother's voice. "How you feelin'?"

"Uh…okay," Dean replied in a scratchy voice as he rubbed fists in his eyes.

"Here," Sam dug out another water bottle and handed it to his brother.

"Yeah," Dean nodded his head appreciatively. "Thanks."

"How's the shoulder?"

"S'alright."

Sam frowned but let it rest for the moment. He wanted to believe his brother. He wanted to so badly. But he knew Dean and he knew his older brother's mulish stubbornness when it came to barreling through the reality of a situation straight into the grassy-green fields of denial.

"Lemme change this out," Sam knelt down and carefully began peeling away the damp bandage.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath, leaning further on his elbows as Sam removed the tape and uncovered the wound. Slimy pus clung in waving bridges to the bandage and the inflammation around the bite mark had stretched the skin taut. Ugly bruises were beginning to appear around the broken skin where the teeth had penetrated.

Sam decided he was just fucking fine with denial. Had to be something to it, after all.

He quickly set about changing the bandage with a fresh one and administering the antibacterial ointment all while expertly avoiding his brother's gaze.

"S'bad?" Dean still sounded a little out of it - groggy and slow as his hazy brain powered through the residual effects from the drugs.

Sam finished securing the tape over the gauze and stood. "No more than usual." He tried for a careless smile and felt himself fail miserably.

"Always been a crap liar, Sammy." Dean groaned as he carefully rose to his feet. He blanched, squeezing his eyes closed and Sam held out a steadying arm.

"'M good," Dean insisted as he half-heartedly batted away the arm. Then his eyebrows shot up in surprise and he yelped a startled, "Hey!" as a figure strode inside behind Sam and suddenly Dean found himself with an armful of smelly, (albeit, herbal), Cas.

"What the-" Dean choked as his arms flailed.

Cas pulled away and patted Dean's chest. "It's very good to see you, Dean." A wry smile crossed his lips as he nodded his head. "I've missed our conversations."

Oh yeah, okay. Because that made _plenty_ of sense. Just your everyday, friendly chit-chat involving junkie kid-brothers, killing Lucifer, and the impending apocalypse. Dean shook off the new pair of hands and gave Cas a disbelieving once-over.

"What, nobody pray to you anymore or something?"

"Well, no, as a matter-of-fact," Cas chuckled, shaking his head with amusement. "See? That. I've missed that." Laughter dissolved into a wistful smile. "I've missed _fun_ you."

Dean turned helplessly to his brother. "What the hell is he talking about?"

Sam's lips pinched as he watched the exchange. Almost as if he couldn't decide if he should be concerned or laughing his ass off at the ridiculous situation.

"Cas has uh…" Sam trailed off, partly in lieu of the fact that he was still trying to wrap his head around it. "…found some new hobbies," he finished, nodding meaningfully at the joint clenched between Cas' fingers. "And," Sam continued hestitantly. "He's a mortal now."

Cas nodded his head at Dean in agreement. The careless amiability was pissing Sam off.

"He can't heal, zap, or smite, and we're just as screwed as we started off."

Dean glared, jamming his hands on his hips – all he needed was a high-heeled shoe to tap and the image of "scolding mother" would be complete, Sam thought.

"The world goes to pot," Sam rolled his eyes, both at his brother's pun and the fact that he practically watched it fly right over Cas' oblivious head – well some things hadn't changed.

"So you decided to trade in your feathers and be Bob Marley, is that it?"

"No," Cas protested seriously. "I didn't want to become this Marley person. It was not my choice to lose the grace. Believe me." Cas scrubbed at his neck before fishing a small box of matches out of his pocket. "But like I told your brother," he lit the joint and took a long puff. "I do what I wish, now." He exhaled and smiled. "Life is simple: enjoy the little things, kill or be killed…simple."

He took another long drag before presenting his offering to the brothers. "You especially, Dean. It will help with the pain." He gestured sympathetically at Dean's shoulder.

Dean startled, though he didn't know why he was surprised, and Sam took a few aggressive steps forward.

"You don't tell a soul, understand? He's fine." Sam's voice was a deep-throated, insistent growl. Dean placed a placating hand on his gigantic guard-dog's shoulder.

"No, no of course not," Cas tut-tut-ed good-naturedly. "They'll kill you, here." There was the obnoxiously unhinged giggle again. "And like I said, you _are _the fun one."

He walked a few steps towards Dean and slipped an unlit joint in the breast pocket of his jacket. Padding it carefully, he looked back up with a knowing smirk. "In case you change your mind. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some business to take care of."

Cas didn't walk. No, he quite literally _twirled _out of the bunkroom in a haze of smoke. The brothers stood staring after him, both marginally stunned before Dean turned to his brother, "What business?" Then shouted after the retreating figure, "Cas, what business?"

* * *

"I _really_ didn't need to know what that sick little dudes been doing with all his human downtime." Dean jammed a few fingers in his eyes, trying to rub away the revolting afterimages. "He could've warned us instead of just letting us walk in. You know he heard us!"

"I don't think I can ever eat tomatoes again," Sam mourned, his face contorting with disgust at the memory. He turned to his brother as if the realization had only just struck, "Dammit, I used to like tomatoes, Dean."

Dean snorted through his nose. His little brother sounded exactly like a whiny six year-old, griping because he wasn't allowed something he wanted.

"Yeah well, I can top that," Dean grimaced. "I don't even wanna think about eating." He sighed wearily. "Sammy, this place is ten kinds of screwed up."

Sam nodded his head absently, then shook it, as if trying hard not to dwell on all of the ways that had proven to be true.

The rumble of a truck sent both brothers scrambling to the window for a look.

It was Twin and his posse, probably returning from their "mission". They watched as the older man hopped out of the truck, slapped a comrade on the shoulder, (Sam recognized him as the man they'd called Victor), and threw him a beer from a cooler.

Mumbled words of congratulations were passed around the group and beer cans popped open as the men began gathering weapons out of the truck.

"Well somebody had a good morning," Dean muttered.

Suddenly, Twin withdrew a pistol from the holster encircling his chest, aimed, and fired a hole through Victor's unsuspecting forehead. The man crumpled gracelessly to the ground.

Sam gasped and felt Dean's arm roughly pushing him back against the wall out of view from the window. They stood staring at each other, wordlessly asking the other what had just happened.

"Dean," Sam finally whispered as the shock wore off. "What the fuck, man?"

"I…I don't know." Dean gulped and cast another cautious glance outside, where the dead man's body was hastily being dragged away as the others went about their business. "That was cold-blood." Dean looked sick and Sam didn't blame him. Watching yourself gank an unsuspecting human was bound to leave one feeling a little ill at the very least.

"Shit," Sam heard his brother whisper. "Sam, he's coming."

The door burst open unceremoniously as the remaining group of men strode inside, weapons balanced expertly in their hands. The brothers barely had time to brace themselves before they were being wrangled and shoved over to a tangle of water pipes in the corner of the room.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean demanded as his left wrist was cuffed and secured to a thick, metal pipe.

"Story short?" The elder Dean quirked his head in a mockingly sympathetic gesture as he adjusted the pistol back in it's holster. "I've found something very important and I need you two to stay out of the way while I put it to good use. Can't have anyone screwing it up – and trust me, you guys are pros."

"Oh c'mon," Dean rolled his head. "You don't trust us?"

The elder man snorted a bitter laugh. "No. Absolutely not."

Dean glared at his _dick-wad_ self before the older man smiled. It wasn't a pleasant expression.

"Besides, where else do you two have to be? I'm sure you don't mind hanging out for a while. I come back, you can be on your merry friggin' way. Everybody wins."

There was something oddly unsettling about the way he said that last bit.

"Where's Bobby," Sam ventured uncertainly.

"Outside, gearing up like I told him. You beginning to see how this works?" Twin gestured to his men who obediently holstered their weapons and filed out of the room.

"You wanna at least tell us what you found that's so damn important you gotta lock us up like convicts?"

The elder man smiled, a raging determination glittering in his dull eyes.

"The answer."

"Well gee," Dean turned to his brother. "That's not cryptic or anything. Apparently I'm infuriatingly vague in my old age, Sammy. We ever get back, you slap me unconscious if I start talking like Cas."

But Twin, much to Dean's chagrin, was out the door before he could finish his mockery.

"Man," Sam murmured. "You're kind of a dick."

"Tell me about it," Dean shook his head in agreement and listened to the truck's engine start up. "Not to mention, I apparently just kill people whenever it happens to tickle my fancy." Sam noticed his brother shudder lightly.

"Hey," Sam softened his voice. "He probably had a good reason. He may be a dick, but he has his… you know, motives." Sam's eyes roamed the floor uneasily.

Dean watched his brother for a moment before rattling the cuffs. He stretched awkwardly for his back pocket and withdrew a small, wire paper clip. He grinned, ridiculously happy with himself.

"Don't know about you, but I'm sick of people sticking me places and telling me to stay put like some kind of goddamn lap dog. I say we go do a little scouting for ourselves."

Fifteen minutes later, they were out of the camp. It had practically been abandoned - only a scattering of women with their noisy children and a few inept guards remaining. Apparently, this whole "answer" business really was a big deal - big enough that every able body had to see to it.

Not that Dean was complaining. It made pilfering a few weapons from inexperienced hands all the more manageable.

"You know what they say about curiosity and the cat." Sam took a swig from their water bottle as they trudged along they dusty stretch of road.

The few cars they'd seen lying haphazardly in the streets had either been too dilapidated too run or had simply refused to start altogether. So walking it was. Even though it was nearing late afternoon and the merciless sunlight made it feel like they were walking around in a gigantic broiling oven.

"Yeah," Dean took the offered bottle. "I say screw the damn cat. I wanna know what's goin' on. And other me is obviously a scrooge when it comes to sharing details."

He handed the water back and Sam stuffed the bottle in his jacket.

"I can't just sit around, suffocating in that stupid shack." Dean paused to wipe his sweaty face. "Plus, we gotta find Dad, so it's better that we're on the move again."

"What?" Sam stopped in his tracks, stuttering over the word.

"Dad," his brother repeated like Sam should know exactly what he was talking about. "We're pretty close."

"Dean?" Sam placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, staring intently into his reddened eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Huh?" Dean startled minutely at the touch and shook his head. "Yeah," he said. "I'm fine." A nervous laugh escaped his lips and Sam felt his gut clenching with apprehension.

"Was just thinking about something else," Dean muttered. Sam listened to another nervous bout of shaky laughter. "You know how sometimes you're thinking about something and then you say it out loud without meaning to?"

Sam nodded, trying to smile back. They walked in silence for a few minutes, Sam casting uneasy glances in his brother's direction every couple of steps.

Dean shouldered his shotgun and came to an abrupt halt, shaking his head in confusion.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

Dean stared back at his brother, looking slightly dazed. "This isn't where we're supposed to be," he mumbled.

"Yeah," Sam slowly nodded his head. "I think we've covered that."

"No, no," Dean spun on his heels, abruptly dropping the gun to his side. "Nothing's covered. Dammit, I'm supposed to know…s'posed to know what to do."

"Hey," Sam caught his brother firmly by his shoulders. "You sure you're feeling okay?"

Dean's eyes squeezed shut as he inhaled sharply against the sudden pain crashing inside his head. His lungs filled with choking heat and breathing had suddenly become a chore.

Weakly shaking himself from the grip holding him captive, he staggered a few feet before stumbling and catching himself on the rusty bumper of an old Jalopy. The entire back end had been obliterated to nothing more than charred, twisted metal. The gruesome details of the car swam past his vision as he sank to the ground.

A face immediately appeared in front of his own, blocking some of the light – the distorted features wavered sickeningly in his line of vision.

"Dean?" A concerned voice momentarily pulled his mind out of the haze as he tried to locate the source. A hand pressed against his forehead and his eyes slipped closed. All of the moisture seemed to have fled his mouth – had it been this difficult to swallow before?

"Man, you don't look so hot."

"No," he swatted at the hand bracing his chest. "I'm fine." His voice sounded odd, thick like molasses. "We have to go back…can't leave him. Can't leave…where's S'mmy?"

"Dean," the voice sounded distressed. "Hey, just calm down, okay? You'll be all right. We'll just rest for a minute."

Dean was confused. Something he was supposed to be doing? What was he supposed to be doing? He was so tired.

"I…I don', wha'? Where's he? Have to…have to go." God, his voice sounded pathetic.

"Shit," the other voice shook with badly disguised panic. "You're burning up, again." He felt something wet pressing against his neck. He moaned softly and pressed into the cool touch. No idea how good it felt.

"Hey," Dean rasped. "Light's green, we… should go. But you won't hit fifty with this piece of crap. Baby…I miss m' baby…" He banged his head - a little too harshly - against the Jalopy's bumper. "Doesn' matter. Could kinda use a car, so we take it, yeah? Promise I won't sing."

He clutched feverishly at the fabric of a jacket before suddenly twisting his head around, his panicked eyes darting to the hazy face and back to the other side of the street.

"D'you hear that," he stared wide-eyed as though the street were coming alive and would swallow him whole. "Coming back," he whispered frantically. "They are! You hear?"

"Dean, you're really scaring me."

"S'why we have to take the car. I won't let 'em…bastards can't have it!"

"Okay, okay, I hear. You won't let them. I know." He felt a rough palm rubbing the side of his face.

"I don' know…I don'…s'not okay…"

"Alright. Just take it easy, huh? It's gonna be fine."

Dean swallowed dryly and allowed his head to rest against the bumper, his energy spent, panting breathlessly against the stifling heat.

"Dean, please," the voice was thick with emotion. He didn't know why, but he felt like he had to reassure it before it went all chick-flicky on his ass.

"'M okay…'m fine," his voice sounded like it was echoing from a hundred miles away. "Jus' gimme a second? S'too bright here…."

The heat. There was nothing but heat and pain and confusion. His vision cleared a little when he opened his eyes. There was Sam - his stupid hair hanging in front of his face as he knelt in front of his brother. Hazel eyes wide and fearful gazing back into Dean's own.

Dean groaned, gritting his teeth against the fresh wave of pain pounding through his skull.

"S'mmy?"

"Yeah, yeah," Sam sounded faint with relief. "I'm right here."

"Don' feel good," Dean slurred. His head dropped between his knees and a watery string of saliva escaped his mouth, clinging to his bottom lip. He spat weakly.

"Okay, you're okay." Sam kept a firm hand against his brother's back.

Dean lurched forward, heaving raggedly before his strength gave out and he nearly crashed face first onto the road. Sam acted quickly. He wrapped his right arm around his brother's chest to steady him while the other braced Dean's leaden head. He felt the knotted back trembling beneath his grasp as Dean sagged forward and vomited onto the asphalt.

He retched for a few minutes before going limp and gasping for air against Sam's chest. He lay panting, trying to regain his bearings before wiping the water from his eyes and shakily hoisting himself to his feet. Sam's hand never left his arm.

"Hey, take it easy," Sam warned.

"Okay. 'M okay." Trembling, Dean wiped his shirtsleeve across his sweaty face. "I feel better now. I just needed to throw up."

"Dean, you don't seem okay."

Dean ignored him. "We should get going."

"Man, I think we should just head back to the camp. You're sick. You need rest, and medicine and…I don't know what to-"

"Shit! Sam, down!" Dean yanked his brother's arm, effectually pulling Sam to his knees. Sam instinctively covered his head as a deafening shotgun blast fired.

He glanced up and saw an explosion of red and black splattering across the street as a figure collapsed. Five more immediately took his place and rushed forward, black eyes flashing against rotting, diseased skin, looking somehow out of place.

Sam got to his feet and drew his pistol, aiming a shot into the crowd. A second demon fell and he heard Dean reload and pump his weapon.

"Get back," Dean ordered and Sam found himself being herded into the doorway of a nearby restaurant.

"Son of a-" Dean had just made it through the door when the first demon came barreling through, crash-landing on top of him and destroying the metal frame of a rickety table.

Sam fired his remaining rounds at the others as they followed their leader through the door. Only one managed to escape the hail of bullets and dove for Sam in a blind fury. Sam shoved the butt end of his gun at the man's face and felt the jarring impact shoot up his arm as the demon staggered under the force of the blow. He threw another punch, the man toppled. He wouldn't be getting up for a while.

Sam looked around frantically and spotted his brother on top of the last demon. Except the man was already dead. Dean sat, wailing with startling fury on the man's body. His fists connecting over and over with the shattered face. He wasn't stopping. Didn't even seem to realize the man was dead.

"Dean," Sam rushed over, landing on his knees beside his brother.

Dean didn't seem to hear.

_Couldn't hear anything except the blood..._

Blood rushing in his ears, drowning out everything else. The overwhelming desire to destroy the thing beneath his grip, to tear him apart, his hands felt nothing but the insane power coursing through his muscles and all that mattered was crushing the life out of the bastard. He wouldn't even allow him the luxury of begging for mercy. No, too good for him.

Adrenalized rage blackened his vision as he jammed his fist into the man's face. Again and again. The lump of flesh nothing but a pulverized mess of bloody muscle and crushed bone disintegrating beneath his knuckles. Blood splattered into his open mouth, painted his teeth crimson, and he couldn't stop the growl of victory clawing up his throat.

Suddenly, he felt hands tugging, a voice was begging, dragging him away from his kill.

His prize.

He spun wildly, crashing headlong into a wide berth of muscle. They tumbled to the floor and Dean dug his fingers into the man's throat. Choking the air from his lungs as his victim's shaking hands pulled at his wrists and the body bucked beneath him. But Dean wouldn't let him go. Because _how dare he_. His vision swam in shades of red as he gripped the straining flesh harder, steadily choking the life out.

"D-De-"

A weak voice sliced through the blind rage consuming his mind.

"Pl-ease…" It begged.

He felt his grip wavering as his vision cleared. His head spun in a dizzying fog of confusion.

_No…_

Sam's frightened, desperate eyes stared back at him. Bulging veins stood out on his neck and forehead, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he struggled for air, fingers pawing weakly at the death-grip around his throat. But the worst thing was the look shadowed behind the terror in his brother's eyes. Resignation. Defeat. Like he truly believed he deserved what was happening to him. Like he expected Dean to follow through with it.

"Oh God," Dean choked as he released his grip and staggered off of Sam's writhing body.

He heard his brother gagging and coughing as he rolled onto his side, gulping swallows of air.

"Oh…God," Dean repeated when he caught sight of his arms, bathed in bright red, and felt the tang of copper stinging his throat.

"Sam," he whispered. Deathly afraid his little brother would just give up on him right then and there. Afraid he'd take off and never come back.

Afraid to be left alone with himself.

But Dean never got the chance to hear his little brother tell him goodbye.

Everything happened so fast.

One moment, Sam was struggling to his feet, Dean watching as he rubbed his abused throat, glassy eyes roaming around the room. The next, the wall shattered in a blinding explosion of thunder. Sam was thrown forward on his face and Dean spun head over heels as he collided with the brick wall on the far side of the room. There was no time to react.

Bodies poured into the confined space. Sam was being tugged forward as a thick burlap bag was jostled over his head and secured. Dean heard his little brother calling his name. He tried to answer, tried to shove his uncooperative body into action, but a sharp pain at the base of his skull sent fireworks exploding in front of his eyes and his vision grayed to black.

It could've only been a few minutes later when he cracked open his heavy eyes. With his luck, it was probably hours. He gingerly rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself into a sitting position. The floor was littered with glass and debris from the explosion. Dean absently thought of a few ways he'd like to use dynamite if he ever got his hands on any.

He touched the back of his aching head and felt the wetness sticking to his fingers.

"Sam?" His voice grated and it was a bitch trying to form words.

"Sammy? Answer me!" The room was completely empty, save the bodies of the demons they'd shot.

Sam was gone.

Dean felt the panic swelling in his chest as he clambered unsteadily to his feet. He swayed and righted himself against the wall as he panted for breath. He couldn't stop his hand from shaking as he ran it awkwardly through his greasy hair.

Grief and rage threatened to tear his heart in half as he stumbled around the room, searching vainly for any sign of his brother, and finally outside where the evening breeze cooled the hot tears leaking down his cheeks. He fell to his knees in the middle of the deserted street.

"SAM!"

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**Okay, y'all know what to do ;) *points excitedly to button* Thanks so much for reading! **

**~P**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey y'all, here's the next bit. It's basically setting the stage for what I have planned for tomorrow! As always, thank you guys for your fun comments and thoughts! Enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: Nope, still not my characters... **

* * *

_Sam was gone. _

_Dean felt the panic swelling in his chest as he clambered to unsteady feet. He swayed and righted himself against the wall as he panted for breath. He couldn't stop his hand from shaking as he ran it through his greasy hair. _

_Grief and anger threatened to swallow him whole as he stumbled around the room, searching vainly for any sign of his brother, and finally outside where the evening breeze cooled the hot tears leaking down his cheeks. He fell to his knees in the middle of the deserted street. _

"_SAM!"_

* * *

He didn't know how long he'd been there. If he'd been sitting for minutes or hours. _Waiting_. He didn't know for what. Why. Maybe he was still just waiting to wake up.

The sun had disappeared and at some point, after the street had been shrouded in the malevolent darkness, the functioning part of his brain convinced him it was time to do something. _Get up. Get your ass into gear. Get back. Back to the camp_. _They can do something, too._

He wasn't sure how he managed the trip back. A good deal of it hazed behind the numbness that seemed to have taken his body captive. Functioning on instinct and willpower. He thought maybe he'd laughed at that thought. _What else was new?_

He couldn't hear beyond the terrible pounding in his head. The gnawing pain made it difficult to walk, to think.

And he couldn't see beyond Sam's face.

That fucking horrible look on his little brother's face.

_Dean's finally going to do it. _

Rid the world of the malignant disease their father had warned them about not so long ago. And Sam was going to let him do it. Hadn't even been trying to fight his brother. Like he'd just been waiting for the punishment he thought he deserved. Like he'd given up.

_God, Sammy. _

Yeah, his brother had screwed up – a lot. Dean still hadn't come to terms with the fallout from the whole Ruby catastrophe. Hell, he hadn't really been given a chance to. But he'd been willing to try and make things right, to forgive. Sam _had_ to have known that, right? But Sam was drowning in guilt and Dean had been so wrapped up in his own head he hadn't been able to pull Sam back. Too self-absorbed to do the only job that had ever really meant anything to him. And now…

Dean had seen it in his eyes. And if Sam believed he'd messed up so badly that he thought he didn't deserve forgiveness – a second chance - _if he thought Dean could ever actually kill him. _Hell or high water they were and would always be family. Sammy was still his little brother, and he had to know that. _Didn't he? Didn't he know?_

Everything since he and Sam had busted out of the camp to go exploring was kind of a blood-soaked blur. He'd been reacting on what seemed to be a disturbingly heightened instinct. The only thing that had been sharper than a clean cut through the jugular, gouging his soul with their ferocious clarity, were his brother's eyes in that horrible moment before the haze cleared – begging.

Begging Dean to finish it.

At some point during the bitter deluge crashing through his fraying mind he had to stop for another puke break. Apparently, black thoughts and a pounding head didn't agree with his queasy stomach. He refused to dwell on the probable reasons he still felt so sick and disjointed with reality. All that mattered now was finding his brother.

Without warning, he was at the door. His energy drained away like sand through lazy fingers and he collapsed against the chipped frame, pounding with his fists. When it opened, he practically fell right into Bobby's arms. The older man propped him up by his shoulders and hauled him inside.

"Boy, what the hell did you think you were doing?"

"Wasn't," Dean mumbled, already half-asleep.

"Wasn't what?" Bobby adjusted his grip and led his charge to a nearby chair. Dean gratefully collapsed into it.

"Thinkin'." Dean rubbed the dizziness from his vision and glanced at the older man. He startled and scowled ferociously when he saw who was standing just behind him.

"Friggin' awesome."

"Question stands," Twin glared, his nostrils expanding. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"Tryin' to dig our way out of this shit-hole." Dean was exhausted and worried and pissed off and he didn't feel good and he really wasn't in the mood to deal with his bitchy clone.

"Yeah," Twin scoffed. "And how'd that work out for you?"

Dean didn't have time for the guy's attitude. He turned to the only person who might listen to him.

"Bobby, it's Sam." A stubborn lump wedged in Dean's throat and he couldn't seem to swallow around it. "He's gone."

"What do you mean _gone_?" Bobby gripped Dean's jacket as much for emphasis as to steady him.

"I don't…I don't know!" He lost control of the terror and suddenly everything was bubbling to the surface and Dean was slumping against the wall, pulling Bobby down with him, shouting and blubbering like a newborn. "He's just gone. Disappeared. And I don't know. I don't know what to do. Bobby, I don't know what to do. He's-"

"All right, take it easy, boy. Just simmer down."

"Bobby, I can't," Dean gripped frantically at the older man's shoulders. "You don't understand. Sam's gone. He was my responsibility and now he's probably dead or worse. And I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do anymore."

"He's not dead."

All eyes in the room were suddenly on the elder Dean.

Dean calmed down long enough to stand and face the man. "What do you mean?" A hot rage pulsed through his pounding head and Dean felt the numbness receding as anger took the reins. "You say that like you know something we don't. Better start talking you son of a bitch." Dean's fists clenched and he felt Bobby's restraining hand on his shoulder.

"It's only a possibility," Twin's eyes were distant and cold. "But I think I know where they may have taken him."

"Who?" Dean was reaching the end of his rope and he had to work not to scream the question while strangling the man. "Who took Sam?"

"Same son of a bitch who takes anybody worth taking."

"And that would be?" Geez, the guy was exasperating. Dean wasn't _this _annoying in his own year, was he?

"Lucifer. More than likely, he has Sam."

Dean felt lightheaded. He was tempted to leave the room and pass out in peace...or finally give in to a panic attack. This was too much – it was all too much.

"Why in the hell would...I thought he-" Dean broke off, trying to wrestle his brain into gear. "I thought he got what he wanted years ago. Why does he need Sam? How did he _know_ about Sam?"

"Who doesn't know about Sam by now," Bobby said. "Everyone who's metals not aimed at him is totin' it for him if they ain't too far gone. Someone runnin' around with Dean Winchester's face and his dead younger brother suddenly goin' Lazarus is bound to turn a few heads, son."

"But what the hell does he need Sam for?" Dean's lack of control over the situation was only stoking that horrible feeling of panic threatening to claw up his throat and explode any second.

"Who the hell knows why he _needs _anything," Bobby sighed and leaned against the doorframe. He looked so much older than Dean remembered. Gray turning to white and stress lines permanently etched around his tired eyes. "But if he wanted Sam, he got him."

"Well, we're getting him back!" Dean was up and pacing. No matter that the room spun like a top thrown off its axis, he wobbled determinedly across the creaking wood and back again before planting himself in front of Bobby. "What's the plan?"

"There won't be a plan." Twin suddenly spoke up from his corner and Dean spun on his heels like a rattlesnake prepared to strike.

"What the fuck do you mean there won't be a plan? Of course there's a plan."

"No." Twin turned casually back to the knife he'd been sharpening before Dean had busted in. "It's too dangerous. Sam's gone and he's not coming back. I won't risk valuable assets to rescue someone who's as good as dead."

Dean couldn't comprehend what this man was saying. _Won't risk it. Too dangerous. Valuable assets? Good as dead…_

"He's your brother." The anger that was becoming all too familiar brimmed to overwhelm him. He fought to keep it under control – to keep from ripping the guy a new one.

"No," Twin denied. "He _was _my brother," he turned his eyes back to his task, jaw clenching. "Probably best for you to accept that sooner rather than later."

"So you're just going to do, what, nothing? You're not gonna help Sammy? You're just gonna leave him to be the Devil's chew toy?"

"Listen, I won't put my men in the line of fire unnecessarily because of your stupidity."

And who knew Dean better than himself. It was infuriating, but he could see the logic…the truth. Didn't mean he had to accept it.

"You listen to me you cowardly son of a bitch," Dean flew at the elder man, catching him by his collar and slamming him against the wall before Twin roughly shoved back, trying to free his arms. "I'm getting my brother back one way or another. And you can sit here in your little camp-kingdom or whatever and boss your minions around, but you're gonna give me a gun and I'm gonna find Sammy."

"Okay, boys-" Bobby started.

"Why can't you get it through your thick skull," Twin shouted. "Sam's gone. He's not coming back. There's nothing you can do about it. You can holler 'til you're blue in the face and threaten all you want, but that's it. You're not fucking up _my _plan to do something that'll end up getting us all killed. There's _nothing _you can do."

"There's always something."

"Well," Twin sighed; slow and weary and ferocity exhausted. "Then have at it. I'm done trying to knock sense into your head. You wanna fly into the lion's den on a kamikaze mission? Have fun."

"You said you know where they may have taken Sam."

"I'm telling you, just stay away. You won't like what you find."

"If it's where I'll find Sammy, I think I'll like it just fine," Dean's voice held a dangerous bite, even Twin managed to look a little wary.

Dean stormed…stumbled – whatever – out of the room and into the brisk night air. He couldn't stay there any longer. Even being in the same room with the man was causing Dean's hair to stand on end and his blood to boil. He collapsed unceremoniously in the grass and rested his heavy head in his hands. Moments later, he felt a firm palm on his shoulder.

"I gotta find him, Bobby."

The hand squeezed lightly and in spite of everything, Dean drew a small measure of comfort from the familiar contact.

"I know you do," Bobby sighed, his forefinger tapping Dean's shoulder in contemplation. "And I'm gonna help you."

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**Stay tuned. More to come tomorrow! Thanks so much for reading :) **


	8. Chapter 8

**Next bit has arrived! Please enjoy and let me know what you think. **

**Disclaimer: Should be a given by now that I don't own these guys. Repetitive repetition is repetitive...**

* * *

"_I gotta find him, Bobby."_

_The hand squeezed lightly and in spite of everything, Dean drew a small measure of comfort from the familiar contact. _

"_I know you do," Bobby sighed, his forefinger tapping Dean's shoulder in contemplation. "And I'm gonna help you."_

* * *

His hands were shaking, but he managed to pry open the hatch. He tumbled out, wincing as his abused shoulder slammed against cold cement. The temperature was muggy and stale copper coated his tongue, making it difficult to breathe.

The sounds of wailing and shrieking and manic laughter echoed off the enormous walls and he sat a moment; trying to pull himself together. Anything can sound like a good idea when all you're doing is talking about it. But he was there now and there was no time to chicken out.

He made his way along the dark corridor, passing cages upon cages of diseased prisoners stacked inside the open rooms and all vying for his attention – some barely living…and some not so much - but no security, no demons, no Lucifer. Nothing. What the hell was going on here? He wished desperately that Bobby had changed his mind and come with him.

It had been almost an entire day of pouring over blueprints, layouts and escape routes. Bobby had refused to let him try something so "fool-headed" without making sure there was at least a chance he could make it back. Too much time had passed and Dean refused to believe it was already too late. He'd tuned out most of what everyone had said, except for disjointed bits about the probability of Sam being used as a weapon, unstoppable forces, inevitable death and yadi-yadi-yada…

Yeah, and what else was new?

Twin had made it clear that if he made it out, he couldn't return to their little clique. It was too dangerous. If he or Sam showed their faces in the camp again they would be shot on sight. If Twin's dick status had ever been in question…

Bobby had deserted him after leading him to the underground tunnels channeling inside the obscenely large hospital. They'd been right, it certainly hadn't been difficult to find. Apparently the Devil had no qualms about blatant advertisement.

Bobby had given him a pistol, the demon knife, (did Twin know about that?), a small pack of supplies and an apology. Because he had to stay with his 'other boy' – said he couldn't leave him just yet. Said he'd lost too much already. Dean had understood. Sort of. The timeline continuity was so skewed it hurt his head to try and really make sense of any of it. But he'd hugged his surrogate father like it was the last time he'd ever get to and said goodbye.

That never got any easier.

Inside, the air was pregnant with the tang of blood and rancid stench of decay. He inched his way along the hall and tried to ignore the horrible sounds clashing all around him. Were these people some kind of experiment? And where was everyone else? Surely he should've ganked _something _by now.

Muffled groans echoed from the inky blackness of a long, desolate passageway a little to his right. This was different. He knew that voice, knew that pain.

_Sam._

He didn't dare call out, but he made his way cautiously towards the sound. The darkness enveloped him like a blanket and for once he was grateful for the protection.

The hallway opened up into a small room dimly lit with flickering fluorescent lights. Metal beams crisscrossed the ceiling and it appeared completely bare except for the cage bolted to the floor in the center. Thick, ugly bars encircled the entire structure, designed to entice without allowing any hope of escape. No door. No visible way in or out.

And Sam.

Sam was there.

Inside the cage.

Dean's heart plummeted into his stomach. His throat was dry as sandpaper. He couldn't even call out Sam's name. Because this couldn't be right. It was too easy. Finding Sam like this – it had to be some kind of trick. Maybe he was seeing things.

His brother's limbs were stretched away from his body and chained to a vertical slab of metal. Two fat tubes were attached crudely to his neck and sprawled behind the metal bed to connect with a giant cylinder. A dark liquid sludged through the tubes and Sam's body shuddered in frequent, involuntary spasms as the substance fed into his bloodstream.

Dean swallowed. He knew what it was. What they were forcing into his little brother's veins. And he was going to kill _every last one of them. _

Dean had never felt such acute desperation as he did at that moment. The intense desire to burst through the bars, rip out the tubes and drag Sam from this horrible place. The desire to hold his brother… to know he was safe in his arms. But Dean could barely move his feet. Instead, his head boiled with rage and he stood trembling as blackness temporarily shadowed his vision.

Slowly, very slowly, he trudged up to the cage and leaned against the icy metal until his face was practically squashed between the bars.

Sam's head rested against his chest, sweaty strands of hair sticking to his face. His chest expanded slowly as he inhaled a labored breath. The veins in his neck and arms bulged grotesquely as the liquid wormed its way through his body. He moaned. A sound so gentle it was nearly voiceless and Dean felt something breaking inside his chest.

"Sam," he whispered, the sound grating and harsh.

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

"Sammy?" He tried again, his voice growing stronger. He angled his body so that he could reach his brother's dangling hand. Sam's skin was unnaturally hot under his fingers. Dean latched on, not caring that his tug was desperate. Not caring how pathetic it was that he craved the contact so badly it hurt.

"C'mon," he begged. "Dammit, brother. I know you can hear me."

Sam moaned again and tried to lift his head.

"That's it," Dean felt giddy with relief. "Now you quit being a stubborn shit and open your eyes."

Sam was panting – hard. Like he just couldn't pull in enough oxygen. The intensity of his trembling increased as the seconds passed. Suddenly, he jerked violently and his head flew backwards, banging against the metal. His muscles tensed and shook with spasms as he struggled against the chains encircling his abdomen. The grunting abruptly escalated to hoarse screams - agonized wails bouncing off the walls of the tiny room and landing cruelly on Dean's ears. He bucked against the bars and gripped Sam's hand tighter.

"Sammy?" Dean felt his eyes grow hot as tears welled. He was sitting dangerously on the edge of panic.

Suddenly, Sam's eyes flew open and he lowered his head, his gaze level and dangerous. Dean staggered, dropping his brother's hand like a poisonous snake, backing away from the bars when he realized he wasn't looking into the familiar hazels, wasn't looking into the trusting eyes of his little brother.

Sam's orbs were pitch black. His face an alien mask of anguish and rage. He growled, low in his throat, and Dean watched as a trickle of blood sluggishly tracked its way from his nose to his lips. He watched Sam's tongue flick out and skim over his top lip, sneering as he sucked at the stain.

"Dean," Sam – the thing – hissed. "You made it."

"Get the hell out of him." Dean's chest hitched as he drew a stuttering breath.

"Not so simple anymore," Sam smiled and quirked his head. "What's wrong, big brother? Don't recognize me?"

"I'm gonna kill every last one of you," Dean's own voice was barely more than a guttural hiss.

"That's the spirit," Sam smiled again, the toxic grimace displaying every one of his perfectly white teeth. "I dare you."

Then, just as suddenly as the stranger appeared, he was gone and the demonic blackness faded from his eyes. Sam startled violently when his eyes finally focused on his brother standing behind the bars.

"Sam?"

Dean cautiously stepped forward, wary and ready for anything. But Sam was just staring, an expression of disbelief and unmasked horror contorting his flushed features.

Dean couldn't stand it any longer. He pressed his body against the bars and reached for his little brother's hand. The palm was clammy, fingers limp, unwillingly to return Dean's grip.

"Sammy, please." Dean begged. His voice was thick and difficult to push out. He couldn't bear it. Sam was suffering and he _couldn't get inside the damn cage_. He struggled vainly against the _fucking_ _iron_ and somehow managed to squeeze his arm even further inside. His grip tightened another fraction.

"De…Dean." Sam stuttered. His eyes filled with tears even as a sad smile parted his chapped lips. Dean saw relief and guilt clouding his brother's face. Sam's breathing hitched violently as another spasm jolted through his muscles and left him panting.

"De…"

Dean watched as Sam painfully stretched his neck to look at Dean's hand covering his own. His gaze lingered and…_God. _The agony, the despair…the defeat – Dean could see it literally tearing his brother in half. But there was something else too, something like disgust. And he knew Sam well enough to realize it was disgust with himself.

He'd seen the same look too many times before, only now it was amplified a hundred times over. Sam's eyes spilled with tears as he turned his head and struggled to get away – to curl in on himself and become as small as possible.

But Dean refused to let him go. _Not this time._

"I'm here, Sammy. I'm right here, little brother. I got you." Even though he didn't. He didn't have anything. It was all slipping through his incompetent grasp like running water. He didn't know how much longer he could hold on. But _dammit, he would_. He would because Sam needed him to and Dean promised himself he wouldn't let go – not while Sam still drew breath. Not while he could still hold on to his little brother.

"Dean…" Sam was crying desperately now. Bitter sobs shaking his frame, his lips trembling pitifully – silently pleading with his brother. Dean didn't even think Sam knew what he was begging for.

And it broke Dean's heart, seeing his baby brother like this. Knowing he was at the end of his rope.

"Sammy, don't. Please don't. S'okay, I-"

"'M sorry," Sam's ragged hitch of breath cut him off. "'M s-so sorry, De-"

He sounded terrified.

"Sam," his tone was stern. Reprimanding. He _needed _to get this through. "You listen to me. This is _not_ your fault. You understand? I'm gonna get us out of this. I promise." He clenched the bar as though he could tear through it with his bare hands. "Haven't thrown in the towel just yet, little brother. We're gonna make these sons of bitches wish like hell they'd never messed with us."

"No." Sam's voice trembled with the intensity of his emotion. His breath hitched and he hiccupped through another sob. "I failed…again. I fucked it all up. Couldn't…couldn't save you."

"Sam, what the hell are you talking about, man? I'm right here."

"But you won't be…w-will you?" Sam's chin quivered as the cascade of hot tears tracked down his cheeks.

_Sammy, stop it. _

"Sammy, stop it. I'm getting you out of here. Promise."

The cylindrical machine whirled and hummed, pushing another flood of liquid into the tubes. Sam's veins throbbed and pulsed frantically. He squeezed his eyes closed and swallowed convulsively, fighting the fresh wave of agony.

_Was it agony?_ Sam almost looked as though…no. No, he wasn't even going there.

"Sam, look at me." Dean felt like he was probably crushing Sam's hand. The hazel eyes opened, sluggishly blinking at him. Pupils reduced to pinholes and disturbingly glossy. Dean could see the blackness already pulsating around the edges of dulled white. _Shit._ Footsteps echoed faintly down the hallway. Controlled and steady and heading straight for them. There wasn't any time.

Sam's sorrowful eyes lingered and for a moment Dean didn't think he'd be able to do it. He couldn't leave him again even if it was only for a short while.

Dean found himself reaching instinctively for Sam's face - but no matter how he tried he couldn't reach that far. His hand flailed before once again closing around Sam's. Sam startled before recognition returned and his lips parted in a weary smile.

"Know what…sounds…good?" Sam's voice was barely a whisper.

"What's that, little brother?"

"Burger."

Dean laughed softly and nodded his head in agreement. "When we get back, that's the first thing on the list. Curly fries and chocolate shakes – strawberry for you - a case of beer to follow up, the whole shebang, Sammy."

"Screw…showers," Sam breathed.

The faint smile lingered on Sam's face as Dean rubbed his thumb soothingly over the back of Sam's wrist.

"Sammy, just hang on a little longer for me. I'll be back before you know it." The smile faded. Sam's eyes fluttered open - panicking. Dean's heart twisted painfully with the knowledge of what he had to do. He squeezed Sam's wrist harder than he should have as his little brother's eyes flooded once more with tears.

"Hey, just think about that burger, huh?" Dean tried to smile and ignore the angry pulse of crimson squeezing inside Sam's enlarged veins.

They were almost to the door. Cursing, Dean broke contact and pulled his hand back through the bars, quietly retracing his steps. He wouldn't be able to make it back down the hallway in time. There was a rusted vent bolted to the floor and he hurriedly rushed over, shoving it free with little trouble. Sam twisted his neck as far as he could, trying to follow his brother.

"Dean? Don't leave," Sam choked.

"Sammy, I'm not leaving you here. I promise. I'm coming back, okay?" Dean's throat was uncomfortably tight and his vision blurred as he forced his upper body inside the drainage vent, refusing to look back.

Sam was no longer calling his name. He was thrashing and bucking against the tubes and restraints, shouting a string of curses at no one. Or just at no one Dean could see.

Dean ducked his head inside, pulled the grate back into place and disappeared into the darkness.

Sam's desperate, heaving sobs followed him down the shaft.

* * *

**TBC...Thanks for reading and don't forget to click that button ;) **


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